


The Child of Surprise

by Keep_Calm_And_Expecto_Patronum



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Dirty Talk, Doggy Style, M/M, Mpreg, Omega Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Pregnant Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Riding, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:34:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 30,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28113954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keep_Calm_And_Expecto_Patronum/pseuds/Keep_Calm_And_Expecto_Patronum
Summary: After spending one fateful night together, Geralt and Jaskier part ways. But eight weeks later, Geralt calls Jaskier out of the blue with some life-changing news.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 31
Kudos: 222





	1. The White Orchard Club

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sillypeppers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sillypeppers/gifts).



> I was inspired to write this story after watching 'Knocked Up', and decided to put my own unique spin on it.
> 
> A big thanks to my betas,[ OllieMaye ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OllieMaye/pseuds/OllieMaye),[ BrandonStrayne ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrandonStrayne/pseuds/BrandonStrayne) and [ Drarryismymuse (Hatchersn) ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hatchersn) for helping me with my atrocious SPaG. I hope you enjoyed reading this story as much as I did writing it!

Geralt was too old for this shit.

He’d only agreed to go clubbing because Yen had asked (well, begged) him to go. It was her first night out in over a year—not surprisingly since being the mother to two preschool age kids stunted one’s social life somewhat. But tonight, Istredd was at home with the girls and Yen had dressed to the nines: wearing her signature black from head to toe with her lips painted ruby red, she looked like a veritable femme fatale. As their taxi trundled through the heavy London traffic, she checked her reflection in her compact mirror.

“How do I look?”

“You look great,” he replied automatically.

“You’re not even looking at me.”

“I don’t need to,” he argued. “You always look great.”

“Are you sure?” she asked uncertainly. “‘Cause I feel like I’m too old to be doing this.”

“That’s because we are,” he teased, finally turning to face her. “But you do look beautiful.”

Yen rolled her eyes. “If you say so. How much farther? I’m gagging for a drink.”

“You do realise it would have been quicker for us to walk there than take a taxi,” Geralt pointed out.

“In these shoes?” Yen laughed. “Not bloody likely.”

“We’re not too far away now,” the taxi driver chipped in. 

The rest of the journey passed in amicable silence. Geralt stared out of the window at nothing in particular as the city streets, crammed with tourists, traffic and stony-faced Londoners, slid past his vision. Geralt had always liked living in London because he enjoyed the anonymity of the city; nobody here gave you a second look. Here, you were free to go about your business without any trouble. Which was ideal, given his line of work. In the world of private security, discretion was everything. 

As their taxi pulled up outside the entrance of The White Orchard Club, Geralt handed the driver a couple of notes and told him to keep the change. The line for the club snaked around the corner of the building and out of sight, but Yen assured him that wouldn’t be a problem for them. Smoothing out her dress, she approached the bouncer at the door and smiled at him.

“Hello Lambert,” she preened. “Long time no see.”

“Yennefer,” Lambert, the bouncer, flashed a toothy grin at Yen and kissed her on the cheek. “How’ve you been keeping?”

As Yen and Lambert exchanged niceties and engaged in small talk, Geralt checked his watch and attempted to cast a casual glance at the long queue of prospective clubbers, several of them shivering from the cold as they waited patiently for admission. It didn’t escape his attention that there were a few good-looking blokes in the queue; a couple of them even caught his eye and winked at him. Geralt suppressed a smirk: well, that was a promising start to the night. 

The White Orchard Club was an old haunt for him and Yen; one of the longest-running gay nightclubs in London, it was where they had met in their early twenties, while she was a politics student and he was on leave from the army. It’s where they had spent their formative years, and they always had each other’s backs, acting as mutual wingmen and faux beards when the need to do so arose. It was a place that they had both felt safe and welcome, a couple of freaks at home with like-minded people who just wanted to have a good time. Although they’d long since put their serious clubbing days behind them, he and Yen had remained the best of friends. 

He’d had a lot of fun at this club over the years, met more than a few boyfriends and even more one-night stands here. It had been a while since he’d slept with anyone, and even though he’d been taking hormone suppressants to control his monthly heat, the prospect of meeting someone tonight excited him. He worked long and unsociable hours and the opportunities for a night of fun, let alone having a relationship, were few and far between these days. 

Geralt’s wandering gaze came to an abrupt halt when striking cornflower blue eyes met his own. The guy at the front of the queue gave Geralt a small smile and averted his gaze. It amused Geralt how bashful the man was considering he was wearing a sheer mesh shirt and leather trousers that were so tight that they were in danger of cutting off circulation to his lower extremities. But Geralt found his reaction endearing. He wondered if he had chosen the outfit himself, but he suspected that a friend had picked it out for him. Not that he needed it—with that tousled dark brown hair and cupid’s bow lips, he could be wearing a burlap sack and have everyone, man or woman, eating out of the palm of his hand. 

Just then, Lambert unhooked the rope barrier and beckoned Geralt and Yen inside. Yen placed her hand on Geralt’s elbow and steered him into the nightclub, bypassing the queue entirely. The shouts of protest from the other would-be clubbers were quickly drowned out as the music inside grew louder, the deep bass of a club anthem pulsing in Geralt’s ears. As they entered the main hall, he and Yen bypassed the dancefloor and headed straight for the bar. The floor was already sticky with spilt booze and he counted his blessings that his feet weren’t exposed to the elements like Yen’s were in her strappy stilettos. He knew that even thinking that way betrayed the fact that he was too old to do this shit anymore—clubbing was a young man’s game. And yet, despite his initial reluctance to go out, he was glad to be here. What harm was there in him and Yen reliving their heyday for the night? 

* * *

“It’s bloody freezing out here,” Jaskier whined, dancing on the spot with his hands tucked under his armpits for warmth.

“You’ve said that already,” Triss snapped. “About a dozen times already. That’s not going to make the queue go any faster.”

“I knew I should have worn a coat,” he muttered.

“And ruin the impact of that glorious shirt that I bought you?” she cried, waving wildly at the sheer mesh shirt he wore. “You’re welcome, by the way. You look very shaggable.”

Jaskier pulled a face. “How many gins did you have before we left the flat?”

“Not nearly enough,” she quipped. “Don’t give me that look. You might not be my type but I’m not blind! You’re a good-looking bloke. Use it to your advantage.”

“I look like a rent boy,” he grumbled. The shirt paired with the skin-tight trousers was a far cry from the soft cardigans and skinny jeans he usually wore. 

“A very sexy, very available rent boy,” Triss joked before adding more gently, “Look, I know you miss Gareth, but you’ve been moping about the flat for weeks now. I hate seeing you so miserable over someone who’s not even worthy of your time.”

“I haven’t been moping,” he protested weakly. “I’ve just…” His sentence trailed off at the bemused expression on Triss’s face. “Okay, maybe I’ve felt a bit sorry for myself. I think that’s understandable given the circumstances.”

Triss nodded in agreement. “Completely. Gareth was a dickhead that broke your heart. But since you won’t let me castrate him, the next best thing I can do is take you out to get a new dick to take your mind off of him.”

Despite himself, Jaskier couldn’t help but smile. He hooked their arms together and gave her an affectionate kiss on the cheek. “Where would I be without you?”

“Sitting at home alone, being miserable.” 

Jaskier couldn’t disagree with that. He turned to see how the queue was faring. It felt like they’d been stuck out here for hours, but the cold weather always had a way of making it feel like time was moving slower. Just then, a taxi pulled up outside the club and a statuesque woman with long, raven black hair exited, closely followed by a man with hair that shone like silver under the harsh streetlights. While his female companion chatted with the bouncer, the fair-haired man stood off awkwardly to the side. He didn’t look particularly keen to be there, which Jaskier could relate to. Jaskier took in the sight of him: tall, broad-shouldered, pale as moonlight with a pink scar across his left eye. The scar, however, didn’t diminish his beauty. On the contrary, it gave him an air of mystery that made Jaskier all the more interested to know this man. 

Just then, the man turned his attention to Jaskier. Jaskier flinched, feeling as though he had been caught red-handed doing something that he ought not to. Embarrassed, he smiled and lowered his gaze. 

“Mmm, someone’s interested,” Triss whispered conspiratorially. “I told you that shirt would come in handy.”

Evidently, she hadn’t been the only one to notice the handsome stranger. Jaskier snorted and rolled his eyes.

“I doubt it,” he said quietly. “He’s here with that woman.”

“And you’re here with me,” she pointed out. “This is a gay club, Jaskier. There’s a fairly high chance that he is, too.”

Just then, the bouncer unhooked the rope barrier and beckoned the man and woman into the club, bypassing the queue entirely. Outraged, Triss gasped and tapped the bouncer on the shoulder.

“Oi! How come Morticia Addams and her mate don’t have to queue like the rest of us?” she fumed.

“They’re VIP guests,” he drawled. 

“That’s bullshit!” she cried. “We’ve been standing out here for ages! Look at my friend,” she said, shaking Jaskier lightly by the shoulders. “His nipples are about to fall off with the cold!”

“Well, then your friend should have worn a coat,” the bouncer retorted. “If you don’t like it, go somewhere else.”

Triss bristled at being brushed off, but she didn’t move from her spot in the queue. Jaskier patted her on the shoulder and consoled, “Don’t stress about it. In a few minutes, we’ll be indoors. We’ll grab a couple of gin and tonics, and shame ourselves with our slutty dance moves.”

Triss huffed out a sigh and some of the tension left her shoulders. “Fine. Better make mine a double.”

When they finally made it into the club, Triss went to find them a table while Jaskier went to get their drinks. As he approached the bar, he saw the fair-haired man and his companion. He was leaning against the bar with one elbow while she was typing furiously on her phone. Playing it cool, Jaskier stood next to the man and tried to catch the attention of the barman. He smiled and waved a couple of times, but the barman’s eyes glazed over him like he was invisible and served other people instead. Jaskier frowned and lowered his hand. This was another reason he hated clubbing.

“I’m having the same problem,” rumbled a low voice in Jaskier’s ear. “I’ve been standing up here for ages and I’m still waiting to be served.”

The hairs on the back of Jaskier’s neck stood to attention as he realised it was the handsome stranger that was talking to him. He blinked a couple of times in an effort to compose himself and fixed what he hoped was a charming smile across his face. “Really? Well, if you’re having trouble getting served, I’ve got no chance.”

The man huffed out a laugh. “I wouldn’t take it personally. He’s literally ignoring this half of the bar.”

“He is, is he? Hmm.” Jaskier thought for a moment and asked, “Do you want a beer?”

“If you’re offering.”

“What about your friend?”

The man glanced at the dark-haired woman and smirked. “She’s not much of a beer drinker, but at this point, I don’t think she’d turn anything down.”

“Cool, just give me a sec…” Making sure the barman’s back was turned, he balanced on his tiptoes and leant across the bar, grabbing four bottles of beer from beneath the counter.

“Oi!” shouted the barman. “Whatchu playing at?”

Jaskier hopped back onto his feet and slammed a crisp twenty pound note onto the bar. “For your troubles. Thanks very much!”

The barman shook his head and snatched the money off of the bar, stuffing it into his bum bag before stomping away to the other end of the bar again. He turned back to the handsome stranger with a cheeky grin. 

“Is there anything else that I can get you—a cocktail? Peanuts, perhaps?”

The man laughed and shook his head. “This is great. How much do I owe you?”

He reached for his wallet, but Jaskier shook his head. “Oh no, it’s on me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Believe me, I very rarely look cool. This is a big moment for me.” 

The man’s smile broadened. “Well, then...thanks very much.”

“No problem.” Jaskier twisted the screw top off of his drink and clinked their bottles together. “Cheers.”

“Cheers.”

The two men took a swig from their bottles as the dark-haired woman sniffed hers cautiously before taking a sip. “Hmm, it’s not an Old Fashioned, but it’ll do. Thank you uh...I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

“Jaskier,” he said, holding out his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” she drawled, taking it into her own. “I’m Yen and this is Geralt. He’s single, by the way.”

Geralt shot Yen a mutinous glare at those last words, but she smiled innocently and took another sip of her drink. Jaskier pretended that he hadn’t heard that last, very interesting piece of information and shook Geralt’s hand. “Nice to meet you, too.”

“Please excuse my friend,” said Geralt. “I think the beer’s went right to her head.”

“I’m perfectly sober—unfortunately,” she replied coolly, pulling her phone out of her bag again and tutting. “Istredd’s trying to call me. Please, excuse me a moment.”

Jaskier and Geralt watched Yen disappear through the crowd to find a quieter spot to talk, leaving the two men alone. Jaskier turned back to Geralt, feeling that familiar nervous excitement he experienced whenever he spoke to someone new and completely out of his league. But he figured since Geralt hadn’t told him to get lost yet, he was off to a good start.

“So, are you having a good night?”

Geralt shrugged. “I’m not sure yet.” His eyes dragged over Jaskier’s body. “I think things could be looking up, though.”

It took all of Jaskier’s willpower not to punch the air then. No, it was better to play it cool for the time being, lest he send Geralt running to the hills. He mirrored Geralt’s stance and propped one elbow up on the bar, but regretted it immediately when he put his elbow in a puddle of spilt booze on the bartop. Hopefully, it was dark enough in here that Geralt wouldn’t notice the wet patch spreading up his sleeve. 

“I know what you mean. My friend, Triss, dragged me here tonight, but now I’m glad that she did.”

“You’re here with a friend?” asked Geralt interestedly.

Jaskier’s smile fell. “Shit! Yes, I came here with my friend. Oh god, and I’d completely forgotten about her.”

“I didn’t think my company was that good,” Geralt joked.

“Would you mind waiting while I go check on her? I need to give her the beer and…”

“I’ll meet you back here,” Geralt assured him. “I’ll see if I can get us another drink while you’re away. What’re you having?”

“A gin and tonic, please,” said Jaskier. “I’ll be right back!”

Reluctantly, Jaskier turned tail and ran across the dancefloor to the seating area where Triss would be waiting for him. He managed to weave through the crowd of dancers with relative ease but it took him a couple of minutes to find his friend in the dimly lit seating area. When he finally spotted her in the farthest corner of the club, she was already sitting with another girl and a large cocktail in her hand. Jaskier approached the table brandishing the beer.

  
“I don’t suppose you’ll be needing this?” he asked.

Triss looked up at him and grinned. “Nope. Vara here has me covered, thanks.”

Vara tossed her waist-length dreadlocks over her shoulder and asked, “Who’s your friend?”

“Jaskier,” he said, introducing himself. “Sorry it took me so long, the service at the bar…”

“Atrocious,” Vara nodded. “You’re better going to the other bar upstairs, it’s a bit quieter there.”

“Cool, thanks for the heads up.” Jaskier turned to Triss. “Well, you look like you’re busy…”

“You’re more than welcome to join us,” said Triss, earning her a bemused look from Vara. Evidently, she was less keen for Jaskier to join them, but he shook his head.

“I’m good. I think I made a friend up at the bar. I’m gonna see how that works out.”

Triss’s eyes widened. “Really? Who is it?” Jaskier pointed across the dancefloor at Geralt and her mouth fell open. _“Him?”_

“Yup.”

“The hot guy that was giving you eyes at the door?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Then what the hell are you doing standing here talking to me?” she cried. “Get over there before someone else starts chatting him up!”

“Good point,” Jaskier turned to leave but Triss cried ‘leave the beer!’ so he slammed the bottle on the table and hurried back across the hall to where Geralt stood waiting patiently for him with a fresh drink in his hand.

“Find your friend?” he asked, handing Jaskier a tall glass with gin and tonic. Jaskier took the proffered drink and nodded.

“Yeah, she’s busy getting chatted up at the moment, I was happy to leave her to it. If I’m being honest, I don’t think she’d even realised I was gone.” He took a swig from his drink and asked, “Speaking of, where did your friend get to? She’s been gone a while.”

“Unfortunately, she had to leave,” said Geralt. “Her partner called to say one of their kids is feeling sick, so…”

“Oh. That’s a shame.”

Geralt shrugged. “Part and parcel of having children, I suppose. They take over your entire lives.”

“Mmm, I can imagine.” Wanting to steer the conversation away from boner-killer subjects like children, Jaskier asked, “So, have you been here before?”

“Not for a long time. It hasn’t changed much though, the service is still atrocious.”

Jaskier laughed, “Yeah, I think unless the barman’s interested in taking you home at the end of the night, you’re doomed to spend half the night standing up there trying to get his attention.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t get his attention with that shirt of yours,” said Geralt silkily, running his hand down Jaskier’s arm. Despite the heat inside the club, goosebumps erupted across Jaskier’s skin at his touch. “It certainly caught mine.”

Jaskier made a mental note to never doubt Triss’s fashion advice ever again. “Do you like to dance?”

“Not particularly.”

“Me neither,” he admitted. “Do you want to get out of here?”

Geralt grinned. “I thought you’d never ask.”


	2. Night at the Marquee

After downing their drinks, Jaskier followed Geralt out of the club back onto the busy Soho street. Jaskier pulled out his phone and asked, “Do you want me to call an Uber?”

“Where do you live?”

“Camden.”

Geralt shook his head. “I live ten minutes from here if you don’t mind walking?”

“Cool, what’s the address?”

Geralt told him the address and he texted Triss to let him know where he was going. She replied immediately with several aubergine emojis, telling him to ‘have fun and be safe’. They walked briskly down the street in relative silence. The nervous anticipation was building up in Jaskier now and he wondered what Geralt would be like in bed. The way that he carried himself, sauntering down the street with his hands tucked into his trousers and his head held high, he looked like the type of guy who was sure of himself. He also looked like a total top, which was fine for Jaskier—being versatile had its advantages. If nothing else, he hoped that Geralt was a good kisser. Jaskier stole a glance at Geralt and couldn’t help but wonder how those plump, pink lips would look wrapped around his cock. Would Geralt suck him off? God, Jaskier hoped he wasn’t the greedy type that only liked to receive and never reciprocate. He supposed he’d find out soon enough. It was the best and worst thing about sleeping with someone for the first time—the unknown. 

“Here we are,” said Geralt suddenly, fishing a bunch of keys from his pocket. “I’m on the top floor.”

Jaskier stopped dead in his tracks and stared up at the building that resembled an old red brick factory with dozens of windows. “You live here?”

“Yeah,” Geralt turned and frowned. “Why, is there a problem?”

“Oh no! On the contrary, this...this is _awesome_. Do you know what this place used to be?” Geralt shook his head, so he explained, “This is the original site of the Marquee Club.”

“Never heard of it.”

“It was legendary,” Jaskier gushed. “The Rolling Stones played their first-ever live performance here.”

Geralt raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Really?”

Jaskier nodded enthusiastically. “All the greats played here: Jethro Tull, Jimi Hendrix, Pink Floyd…”

“Huh. That would explain why they charge me such exorbitant rent,” he mused. He opened the security door and beckoned Jaskier inside. “After you.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

As the lift ascended at a snail's pace, Geralt asked, “You like music, then?”

“I think everyone likes music,” Jaskier chuckled. “What kind of music do you listen to?”

Geralt shrugged. “This and that. What about you?”

“We’ll be here all day if we talked about that,” Jaskier warned lightly. The lift doors slid open then and Jaskier followed Geralt down the corridor. When Geralt opened the door to his flat and switched on the light, Jaskier’s mouth fell open. “Holy shit. This is your house?”

“Yup.” Geralt closed the door behind Jaskier and tossed his keys on a nearby table. “Let me guess—Jimi Hendrix played a show in this very room.”

“I don’t know about that,” said Jaskier. “It’s just...Christ, your living room’s bigger than my entire flat.”

“I don’t think there’s many lofts in the Camden area, if I remember rightly.”

Certainly not any that Jaskier could afford. “Well, you have a lovely home.”

“Is that why you came here?” asked Geralt, moving closer. He rested his hands on the door on either side of Jaskier’s head, boxing him in, and pressed his lips to his ear. “Do you want to talk real estate, or do you want to fuck me?”

Jaskier’s breath hitched. “You want me to fuck you?”

“I want you to rail me until I can’t walk straight,” he breathed, dragging his teeth up Jaskier’s exposed neck and nipping his earlobe. “I want you to bury your cock into my tight arse, right to the hilt.” Geralt slowly dragged his hand down Jaskier’s chest before palming the bulge straining his trousers. Jaskier’s eyes fluttered shut and his breath stuttered, feeling drunk on Geralt’s words. “I want you to pin me down on the bed and fuck me into the mattress.” Jaskier was struggling to think straight as Geralt unzipped his trousers and pulled out his cock, teasing him with a leisurely stroke up and down the shaft. Jaskier groaned, unable to stop his body arching into Geralt’s touch. “Is that a dealbreaker for you?”

“Fuck no.”

Jaskier turned his head searching blindly for Geralt’s mouth. He couldn’t wait a second longer, he had to kiss him. Geralt crushed their mouths together in a messy kiss, all the while continuing to stroke Jaskier’s cock in a slow, sensuous rhythm, rubbing the pad of his thumb lightly over the tip, smearing precum over the head. Where Geralt was slow, methodical and in control, Jaskier’s movements were frantic; there was an edge of desperation to his desire as he fought with Geralt’s buckle and zipper. He roughly pushed Geralt’s trousers past his thighs and took his hard cock in hand and holy shit, he was _huge_. Of course, he was: big house. Big dick. Great kisser. Some men had all the luck, but for tonight at least, Jaskier had him all to himself. 

Jaskier took a firm grip of Geralt’s cock and mimicked Geralt’s movements, pumping his fist back and forth in long, smooth strokes. Geralt’s moans of pleasure were stifled by Jaskier’s mouth, but the sound sent a sharp spark of arousal through Jaskier. Geralt broke the kiss, grabbed Jaskier’s hand and marched him to the bedroom. Before Jaskier could even catch his breath, Geralt had pushed him onto the bed (which he couldn’t help but notice was also huge, just like everything else in this flat). Jaskier bounced onto the mattress, staring wide-eyed as Geralt loomed over him, his giant frame blocking out what little light poured in from the living room. It was a little unnerving and all kinds of sexy to be in this situation: evidently, Geralt knew what he liked and he wasn’t afraid to ask for it. Jaskier only hoped that he was up to the task to deliver.

Geralt pulled his shirt off over his head in one fluid movement before discarding his trousers, finally revealing himself in all his glory. Jaskier drank in the sight of him: the vee of his slender hips drew Jaskier’s eyes towards his stiff cock, hanging thick and heavy between his legs. Even under such poor lighting, he really was a feast for the eyes.

Jaskier quickly followed suit, looking far less elegant as he squirmed out of his too-tight trousers and practically tore off his flimsy mesh shirt. When he’d discarded the last of his clothing, Geralt climbed onto his lap and leant down to kiss him, Jaskier rising up to meet him halfway. Jaskier relied on his hands to guide him in the darkness, relishing every inch within reach. Geralt’s taut, muscular thighs planked either side of Jaskier’s hips. His large, calloused hands cupping his face as they kissed each other soundly. Jaskier ran his hands across Geralt’s slim waist and up his back, over hot skin crisscrossed with thin ridges that he realised were more scars like the one that graced Geralt’s face. He wondered idly where Geralt had gotten the scars from, but that passing curiosity fled his mind when Geralt pulled away from him to retrieve a bottle of lube and condoms from his bedside table.

Geralt got himself comfortable in the centre of the bed, rolling onto his front and tucking a pillow under his stomach, raising his (frankly, spectacular) arse into the air. Jaskier took a moment just to stare and admire the sight before he settled down between Geralt’s legs. Admittedly, it had been a while since he’d done this, but he figured it was like riding a bike. Using the palms of his hands, he spread Geralt’s cheeks apart to reveal the tight, puckered ring of muscle. He suddenly had the urge to taste it, and letting instinct overrule his inhibitions, he leant forward and swept the flat of his tongue over Geralt’s hole, delighting at the small moan of surprise that escaped him. 

“Fuck, I never figured you for a tease,” Geralt mumbled, his voice muffled by the pillow he was hugging.

“Oh, I’m just getting started,” he promised. 

Jaskier set to work lapping at Geralt’s hole like it was ice-cream melting in the hot sun, savouring the sharp, musky taste as the muscle began to pulse and contract to his touch. If that wasn’t an indicator that Geralt was enjoying himself, the sharp gasps and deep, breathy moans that poured from his lips certainly were. Jaskier alternated between using his mouth and his fingers when his jaw began to hurt, circling the rim with his index finger before pushing in slightly, testing just how far Geralt’s body would let him push inside. Once Geralt was relaxed enough, Jaskier was able to slip his whole digit in and out with ease. He couldn’t help but moan at how Geralt’s hole greedily swallowed his finger, the velvety heat of his body clenching and relaxing around him as Geralt’s breaths became increasingly ragged. When he pushed in two fingers, Geralt mewled, pressing his rear back against Jaskier’s fingers, begging for more. He was only too happy to oblige, drizzling lube over his fingers as he started to fuck Geralt in a slow, steady pace, back and forth, pulling out moans and gasps of pleasure from Geralt with each stroke. 

Jaskier would have been content to do this for the rest of his life, lying there listening to Geralt gasp and groan, to feel him rock back and forth against his fingers. But when Geralt snarled and demanded that Jaskier stop teasing him and just fuck him already, a spike of arousal and excitement shot through him. Geralt’s tight hole felt amazing around his fingers, he could only imagine what it would feel like around his prick. When he tried to open the condom wrapper, he found that his fingers were too slippery to grip the edge, so he was glad that Geralt’s back was turned when he sneakily wiped the lube and spit off of his hand on top of the bedsheets. 

Once the condom was on and he’d applied a liberal amount of lube to his length, Geralt got up on his hands and knees, and Jaskier lined the tip of his cock at Geralt’s entrance. He took his time pressing forward, meeting some resistance, but Geralt rocked his hips back, taking Jaskier’s full length into his body in one, smooth stroke. Jaskier gasped, digging his fingertips into Geralt’s hips to steady himself. 

“Holy shit, you feel amazing,” he whimpered. 

“Please move,” Geralt pleaded. “Fuck me hard.” Jaskier braced himself and snapped his hips forward, knocking a grunt out of Geralt. “Fuck yes, keep doing that.”

Jaskier took a firm grip of Geralt’s hips, drew back and thrust forward again. Geralt groaned louder this time, so Jaskier repeated the movement again and again, pistoning his hips back and forth, hard and fast like Geralt commanded him to. Their heavy breaths and gasps of pleasure seemed to sync and meld with their movements, in and out, back and forth, pushing them both closer and closer to a dizzying climax. Jaskier felt like he was in sensory overload, drunk on the sound and the feeling of Geralt, but he wanted to see him too, commit this moment to memory for future nights when he was alone in bed. Arching his back, he used his fingers to spread Geralt’s cheeks further apart, the better to see his cock slide in and out of Geralt’s body in smooth, continuous strokes. Jaskier’s mouth fell open. The sight was as enthralling as it was obscene, and it took all of his willpower not to come right there and then. 

“Fuck, you should see yourself like this,” he purred. “So fucking hot.”

Geralt lowered his face onto the bed, reached back with both hands and pulled his cheeks further apart. “How’s that?”

“Fucking gorgeous.” He liked seeing Geralt in this position, face down and arse up, moaning like a bitch as he took Jaskier’s cock. He leant forward and grabbed the back of Geralt’s neck, pushing his face into the bed. “You like that?”

“Oh, fuck yes,” Geralt groaned. “Just like that. Fuck me into the bed.”

Jaskier responded by threading his fingers through Geralt’s hair, caressing it before taking a fistful for purchase as he began pounding mercilessly into him. Geralt cried out then and his hands fisted the bedsheets. “Oh my god…”

“Close?” Jaskier panted.

“Don’t stop,” Geralt rambled. “Don’t stop, please don’t stop…”

Using his free hand, Jaskier took ahold of Geralt’s cock. It felt impossibly hard in his grasp and was weeping precum; Jaskier knew that he must be close then. Using the precum to slick Geralt’s length, he began pumping it back and forth to the same rhythm of his hips. Geralt practically howled then and Jaskier felt Geralt’s cock begin to pulse in his hand, drenching his fingers and the bedsheets in hot seed. 

“Keep going,” Geralt sobbed, sounding totally wrecked. “Oh god, don’t stop.”

Jaskier continued to milk every last bit of pleasure out of Geralt, but he was fighting a losing battle: he wanted to pull Geralt closer, kiss him deeper, wanted to fuck him and be fucked into oblivion, but his grip grew slack and his back arched as he came, his orgasm hitting him like a battering ram. Dizzy and exhausted, Jaskier collapsed forward unceremoniously onto Geralt’s back, but Geralt didn’t immediately shrug him off. Neither man moved for a while, taking a well-earned break to get their breaths back and contemplate what was—for Jaskier, at least—the most mind-blowing sex of his life. 

When Jaskier felt Geralt squirm, he rolled onto his back, lying spread eagle on the bed and staring up at the ceiling. “Wow. I mean, that was...fuck me.”

“Yeah, this was fun,” Geralt replied unenthusiastically. He got to his feet and padded out of the bedroom. Jaskier propped himself up on his elbows and called after him.

“Where are you going?”

“Shower,” he replied. “You can go for one after me if you want.”

Jaskier heard the squeak of taps and the sound of running water a moment later and collapsed back onto the bed. Okay, so Geralt wasn’t a cuddler—disappointing, but not that surprising. Figuring he ought to clean up his mess, he reached down to remove the condom, but the sight that greeted him made his stomach sink.

“Fuck,” he hissed. “Geralt!”


	3. Blissful Ignorance

Geralt didn’t hear Jaskier shouting for him. Instead, he spent the next couple of minutes enjoying his scalding hot shower, blissfully unaware of the drama that was about to unfold. 

It had been a long time since he’d slept with anyone, longer still since he’d met anyone that seemed to be as compatible with him in the bedroom. In a strange way, it made the evening all the more bittersweet: as much as he had enjoyed the sex—by god, had he enjoyed it—and as sweet as Jaskier was (well, maybe because of that), Geralt simply didn’t have the time for a relationship. His hectic work schedule just didn’t lend itself to the sort of domestic lifestyle that Yen and his other friends now had. He supposed that he could suggest something more casual, but he’d been burned before and knew himself too well now to follow that treacherous path again. 

When he reentered the bedroom a few minutes later towelling his hair, the light had been switched on, and he found Jaskier sitting on the edge of the bed with the quilt pulled over his lap, looking sheepish. Geralt suppressed a smile. Honestly, Jaskier had just thoroughly shagged Geralt, and he still had that bashful look about him. It was kind of adorable. 

“Bathroom’s all yours if you need it,” he said, tossing the damp towel to a washing basket in the corner of the room. 

“Geralt…”

“Yes?” Jaskier worried his lip for a moment before holding out his hand. Geralt looked at what Jaskier was showing him and he froze. “What is that?”

“The condom,” said Jaskier quietly. “It um...well, it looks like it broke.”

Geralt’s eyes widened with alarm. _“Are you serious?”_

“Believe me, this isn’t something I’d joke about!” Jaskier cried, lowering his hand. “If it’s any consolation, I was tested recently and got a clean bill of health. But um...urgh. Look, I hate to ask, but is there anything that I should know? Like, sexual health-wise where you’re concerned?”

Geralt felt a stab of fear shoot through him then. Fuck. _Fuck_. Well, this was just typical, wasn’t it? He’d only gone out for a night of fun, he did not have time to be dealing with this shit. At least Jaskier had been honest enough to inform him of what had happened—he knew a lot of guys wouldn’t have done that. For that reason, he believed that Jaskier was being sincere about his sexual health status, but he’d still arrange an appointment for himself at the GUM clinic, just to be sure. However, that was the least of Geralt’s worries—‌ the fact that he was an Omega complicated matters somewhat...

“Geralt?” Jaskier repeated, his voice cracking. “Is there anything that I should know?”

Geralt’s mind was racing—should he just tell Jaskier that he was an Omega? Based on the short time they’d known each other, he didn’t seem like the type that would freak out over it. Not that Geralt’s status should matter, but he knew from experience that prejudice against his kind was still rife. Oh god, what if he got pregnant?

Geralt shook his head clear. _Stop it,_ he told himself. _That’s not going to happen._ He’d go to the chemist first thing and get the morning-after pill. He looked at Jaskier, whose panicked expression made his gut twist with guilt. No, this wasn’t a can of worms that he wanted to open, especially not with someone he was likely never to see again. He didn’t see the point in making the poor guy worry about something that would probably come to nothing. 

“No,” he croaked. “I mean, it’s been a couple of years since I last got checked, but you’re the first person I’ve slept with since then.”

Jaskier looked visibly relieved. “Wow, you had me worried there for a moment! Okay, that’s good news. Obviously, the condom breaking is unfortunate, but if we’re both okay, I guess no harm, no foul, eh?”

“Yeah,” Geralt replied distractedly. “Are you wanting a shower before you go? I’ve got work first thing in the morning, so…”

“Oh.” Disappointment flashed across Jaskier’s face but he quickly replaced it with a smile. “Uh, yeah. If you don’t mind?”

“Fresh towels are in there,” said Geralt, turning his back on Jaskier to pull fresh clothes from his dresser. “Bathroom’s first door on the left.”

“Right. Thanks.” 

As Geralt pulled on his pyjamas, Jaskier quickly grabbed his clothes strewn across the floor and slunk out of the bedroom. Geralt retrieved his phone from his trouser pocket and saw that he had a couple of new messages from Yen waiting for him. The first one asked if he had gone home with his ‘twink’, and the second (Geralt couldn’t help but grimace) jokingly reminded him to use protection. He sent a quick reply confirming that he had made it home in one piece and then arranged for an Uber to take Jaskier home before stuffing his phone into the pocket of his joggers. He knew Yen would be keen to hear the deets on Jaskier, but he wasn’t in the mood to talk to her—‌ or anyone else, for that matter. A few minutes later, Jaskier reappeared at the bedroom door, fully dressed with his chestnut locks still wet from the shower, slicked back and curling at the ends. Geralt couldn’t help but think how much Jaskier suited his hair like that, but he quickly came back to his senses and cleared his throat.

“I called you an Uber,” he said. “It’ll be here in a couple of minutes.”

“Alright.” There was a long pause. “Um...how much do I owe you?”

“I’ll pay for it,” Geralt insisted. “It’ll make up for the beer you bought me earlier tonight.”

Jaskier fixed a tight smile across his face and nodded. God, Geralt always hated this part of the evening. The lead up to sex was fun—‌the flirting, the foreplay, the anticipation—‌and the sex itself had been spectacular, but afterwards...well, reality always came crashing back down and everything was just so _awkward_. It was better just to rip off the proverbial band-aid and send the guy packing before things got too weird. Geralt walked Jaskier to the front door but as Jaskier exited the flat, he lingered in the corridor. 

“I uh...I just wanted to say that I had a great time tonight.”

“Yeah, me too,” said Geralt sincerely. He really had. Right up until the mishap. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

Jaskier perked up then. “Yeah, I’d like that. Um, should we swap numbers then?”

Geralt sighed. “Yeah, sure.”

He pulled his phone out of his joggers and handed it over. Jaskier typed in his number and pressed dial, let his phone ring once before hanging up again. He handed Geralt’s phone back with a big smile on his face. 

“Cool. Well, it was really great meeting you.”

“Yeah, you too. Have a safe journey home.”

“You too. I mean,” Jaskier blushed furiously and rolled his eyes. “Obviously, you’re already home. I just meant—‌ I’m talking too much, aren’t I?”

Another smile teased Geralt’s lips. Goddamn, this guy was adorable. “You’re going to miss your ride.”

Jaskier nodded. “Right. I’m going to go now, so...bye.”

He gave a small wave goodbye and strode towards the lift with a definite spring in his step. Geralt watched him enter the lift and disappear from sight before closing the front door and thudding his head against it. He was definitely getting too old for this shit.

* * *

Half an hour later, Jaskier was in his own bed chatting to Triss on the phone about his night with Geralt. As effective as her choice of clothing had been, it wasn’t the most comfortable attire and he was glad to be back in his oversized hoodie and thermal leggings. 

“How big?” Triss asked.

_“Huge,”_ Jaskier assured her. “Honestly, it was bigger than my flat and yours combined.”

“Urgh, you lucky sod,” she groaned. “He must be absolutely minted, then. Did you find out what he does for a living?”

When Jaskier thought of Geralt, he couldn’t help but smile so broadly that it hurt his cheeks. “Well, we didn’t really get much of a chance to talk, if I’m honest.”

Triss laughed and let out a triumphant cheer. “Didn’t I tell you? It was that shirt! It totally worked its magic.”

“Oh yeah, it was all the shirt,” he replied sarcastically. “It had absolutely nothing to do with me and my irresistible personality.”

Triss hummed thoughtfully for a moment before replying lightly, “Nope! It was definitely the shirt.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “We’ll agree to disagree on that. Okay, I’ll concede that it may have been partly responsible for how successful my night was. But the rest of it was all me.”

“Sounds to me like you had a great time,” said Triss fondly. “I’m glad. You deserved a night of fun! It’s been long overdue.”

“Yeah, thanks for dragging my sorry arse out of the door tonight. I do feel a lot better now.”

“A good shag will do that,” she chuckled. “So, you and Geralt, I have to ask—‌was it a one-time thing, or do you think you’ll see him again?”

Jaskier hesitated. He couldn’t ignore how off Geralt had been with him afterwards and how he couldn’t get Jaskier out of the flat quick enough. After what had been an almost perfect evening, it felt like someone had thrown a cold bucket of water over him. “I’m not sure. I mean, I’d like to.” 

“Did you swap numbers?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, that’s a good sign!” said Triss enthusiastically. “Have you texted him yet?”

Jaskier pulled a face. “No! Why? Do you think I should?”

_“I_ would!” 

Jaskier wasn’t so sure that was a good idea. “I dunno. I don’t want to come across as too clingy…”

“Did you at least text him to let him know that you got home safely?” she asked.

“Well, no…”

“There’s your in,” she declared. “If I were you, I’d send him a casual text just to say that you made it home safe and thank him again for a good night. I don’t think that comes across as too clingy, you’re simply keeping him informed.” 

“Hmm, I suppose so.”

Sensing his wariness, Triss continued, “You put your trust in me with your wardrobe this evening, and it paid off, didn’t it? Well, trust me with this. Go on, what’s the worst that could happen?”

“That I scare him off and he never messages me back,” said Jaskier.

“Well, if he’s scared off by a little text message, then he clearly wasn’t that brilliant to begin with,” she argued. “Now, if we’re done talking about your night of wild and passionate sex, I need to tell you about my evening with Vara!”

Jaskier smiled and settled himself back into a more comfortable position to listen to Triss’s exploits. By the sounds of it, she’d had as good a night as Jaskier had, only she and Vara had already agreed to meet up again next weekend for a ‘proper’ date. He and Triss chatted for another hour and arranged to catch up for lunch in a couple of days’ time before they decided to call it a night. Jaskier tucked his phone under his pillow and closed his eyes only to grab it again a minute later. He stared at the blank screen, wondering if he should take Triss’s advice and send Geralt a text. He hadn’t planned on doing it, but Triss had provided a persuasive argument: what was the harm in letting Geralt know that he’d gotten home safely? If that scared him off, then evidently he’d never had any intention of calling Jaskier back anyway.

_Screw it,_ he thought to himself and began to type a quick text message:

_Hi, just wanted to let you know that I got home safely. Thanks again for a great night. Hopefully, we can do it again soon. Jaskier x_

Jaskier read the message over again a couple of times and hit send before his courage failed him. He stuffed his phone back under his pillow and tucked the quilt under his chin, his heart pounding. He didn’t really expect Geralt to message him back tonight since it was late and he had said that he was up early in the morning for work. Still, he wasn’t going to smother that inkling of hope that bloomed in the centre of his chest when he thought of Geralt. Fingers crossed that come morning, an unread text message would be waiting for him.


	4. An Unexpected Surprise

_ Eight weeks later _

Geralt scrutinised his reflection in the bathroom mirror and grimaced. Fuck. He really looked like shit. Felt like it, too. Granted, the harsh, fluorescent lighting overhead wasn’t doing him any favours, but even without it, his sickly pale skin felt clammy to the touch. He’d felt the same every morning for the last week: he’d wake up feeling nauseous like he’d spent the previous night on the sauce, but he hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol in weeks, not since he’d gone out clubbing with Yen. Geralt just put it down to a really aggressive stomach flu that was taking its sweet time to run its course. 

He splashed cold water on his face and let out a shaky sigh—he knew that he shouldn’t have come into the office today. Not that he had a choice; the potential client that they had coming in today was an important one, both in terms of wealth and influence. Most of the time, when foreign clients wanted to hire additional private security, they would send someone in to speak to Geralt’s team on their behalf—normally, this would be the client’s personal head of security. But, rather unusually, this client had asked to speak to Geralt directly. However unorthodox the request, his company had built up a solid reputation over the years and were happy to accommodate their clientele’s needs, whatever they may be. If that meant that Geralt would have to drag his sick, sorry arse out of bed for the morning, then so be it. 

Geralt involuntarily wretched again. God help him, he only needed to get through this meeting and then he could go home, crawl back into his bed and suffer in peaceful solitude. There was a polite knock at the door and a small voice called out, “Sir, Ms Riannon has just entered the building. She’ll be here any minute.”

“Thank you, Eleanor,” he croaked. “When she arrives, send her right in. I’ll be ready.”

“Yes, sir.”

Geralt listened to his secretary’s heels  _ click-clack _ across his office floor in a hurry. He checked his reflection one last time, adjusted his tie and quietly told himself to get his shit together before exiting the bathroom and taking his seat at his office desk. Even with the air-conditioning on full blast, the room felt stiflingly hot. He wished that he could open one of the windows to let in some fresh air—well, as fresh as air in central London could be—but for obvious reasons, skyscrapers weren’t fitted with windows that could be opened from forty floors up. One of the reasons he’d chosen this particular office space as his base of operations was because it had a spectacular view of the surrounding skyscrapers in the city’s financial district. Geralt thought that they looked like crystalline mountains the way that they jutted out of the concrete ground, a shimmering skyline of steel and glass that dominated your vision wherever you turned. It wasn’t to everyone’s tastes, but Geralt had always loved London’s ever-changing architecture. Plus, he figured that if he was going to spend sixty hours a week here, he might as well have a view that he could enjoy. 

Geralt snapped back to reality when he heard a gravelly, authoritative voice coming from the waiting area outside of his office. Having spoken to Ms Riannon on the phone already, her voice was instantly recognisable. A moment later, there was a polite knock at the door and his secretary popped her head into the room.

“Sir, Ms Riannon has arrived,” she said, opening the door fully and beckoning the client into his office. A tall woman with dark brown hair fashioned into a tight bun entered the room. Geralt immediately rose to his feet, a little too quickly perhaps, because he wobbled on the spot. Fighting through his dizzy spell, he extended his hand. She gave him a curious look before taking his hand and giving it a firm shake before taking the seat in front of his desk without prompting. Eleanor lingered by the doorway and asked, “Would you like a drink, ma’am? Tea or water…”

“Coffee,” Ms Riannon replied curtly. “Black.”

“Of course. Sir?”

“Nothing for me, thank you.”

Eleanor gave a quick nod and closed the door behind her to give Geralt privacy. He turned to the woman and said, “Ms Riannon, it’s an honour to meet you.”

“Is it?” she smirked. “Tell me, are you actually interested in Cintran politics, or were you merely being polite?”

Geralt blinked. He’d heard that Calanthe Fiona Riannon was sharp-tongued with wicked wit, and was famed for openly stating her opinion— a trait woefully rare in the world of politics. It earned her many admirers, but just as many enemies, which would explain why she had come here to seek Geralt’s services. He considered what answer would inflict the least amount of damage: he didn’t want to be rude, but she wasn’t the type of woman that pandered to sycophants.

“Would you rather I gave you an honest or a diplomatic answer?” he chanced.

Ms Riannon drew him a stern look and Geralt wondered if he had made a grave miscalculation, but a moment later, she laughed and shook her head at him.

“Very good, Mr Haute-Bellegarde! Evidently, there’s more to you than just your looks,” she praised. 

“Thank you, Ms Riannon.”

“Please, call me Calanthe.”

“Very well...Calanthe,” he began. “How can White Wolf Protection be of service to you?”

“Hmm, straight to business as well,” she mused, still smiling at him. “Your reputation really does precede you. Very well, enough of the fun and games, as fun as they are…”

She went on to explain that her granddaughter would be relocating to London for the foreseeable future. The story that they had released to the press explained that this was because she was due to enrol at  Cheltenham Ladies College. As one of the top boarding schools in the world, this would come as a surprise to few. But Ms Riannon confessed that they had an ulterior motive for sending the child to study so far from home.

“The political situation in my country at the moment is...unstable,” she admitted matter-of-factly. “It has recently come to my attention that credible threats have been made against my life and that of my husband. While we are confident that our security services are equipped to deal with these threats accordingly, I am not so arrogant to presume that we are untouchable . Anyone can be bought or blackmailed. And those few who are loyal to a fault are not infallible— to err is human, after all. I am not  one to take chances, Mr  Haute-Bellegarde,  certainly not with my granddaughter’s life. My husband and I both agree that it would be in Cirilla’s best interests if she were to leave the country for the time being, until the situation in our country stabilises.”

There was a slight knock at the door and Eleanor entered the room with a steaming hot cup of coffee for Ms Riannon. She waited until Eleanor had exited the room before continuing.

“Until such times, she will require  around-the-clock security,” she explained, lifting the cup to her lips and taking a sip. She scrunched up her nose and placed the cup back onto Geralt’s desk. “Well, I certainly hope that your protection services are better than your coffee.”

“I can assure you that they are,” he promised. “Whatever you need, we are at your disposal.”

As they discussed the finer points of the services that Ms Riannon wanted, Geralt’s nausea reared its ugly head yet again. He cleared his throat a couple of times and subtly wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve, hoping that the client wouldn’t notice. But just as they were about to conclude the meeting, Ms Riannon stopped talking mid-sentence and frowned at him.

“I must say, you’re looking rather pale,” she mused. “Are you well?”

“I’m fine,” he lied, trying his best to ignore the mounting queasiness rising up inside of him and failing spectacularly. His stomach gurgled loudly and Geralt winced as he was struck with a sudden onset of cramp. “Urgh. ‘Scuse me.”

“You certainly don’t look alright,” Ms Riannon drawled. “Do you want me to call your secretar—”

Before Ms Riannon could complete her sentence, Geralt had lunged for the waste paper basket beside his desk and was violently sick in it. Ms Riannon, far from looking scandalised by the sight, raised her eyebrows with surprise.

“Dear me,” she mumbled. “You really  _ are  _ ill, aren’t you?”

“I’m so sorry,” Geralt replied shakily. “This is so embarrassing, I—” He wretched and was sick again. “Urgh, god...”

“If you were feeling unwell this morning, I would have been happy to rearrange with you,” she chided lightly. “Although, I must commend you for coming in despite feeling so poorly. Bravo, sir.”

“Thank you,” he croaked, hugging the bin to his chest. “I don’t know what the hell’s wrong with me. I’ve been feeling like this for days now.”

“Really?” she scrutinised him closely. “Have you been struggling to keep food and drink down?” Geralt nodded. “Feeling dizzy when you stand up?” He nodded again. Ms Riannon sat back in her chair. “Well, it sounds to me like the culprit could be one of two things— a very nasty stomach bug, or hyperemesis gravidarum.”

“What’s that?” he asked.

“Excessive nausea and vomiting,” she explained. “It’s a condition that some people develop when they’re pregnant.”

Geralt froze. “Excuse me?”

“Those experiencing their first pregnancy are at a higher risk of developing it,” she continued. “I suffered it myself when I was pregnant with my daughter. If you are pregnant, you should speak to your GP about treatment.”

“How would you—” Geralt stammered, then corrected himself, “Why would you assume that I was pregnant?”

“You were going to ask, how would I know that you’re an Omega,” she replied. “I’m entrusting you with my granddaughter’s life. You must have realised that I would have done a thorough amount of research on not just your company, but into you and your staff as well before I even considered meeting you in person.” Waving her hand dismissively, she continued. “Whether you’re an Omega is neither here nor there. I’m satisfied that you and your company are the most qualified for the task at hand.”

Ms Riannon rose to her feet and smiled at Geralt. “I believe that concludes our business for the day. Mr Lazlo is my head of security, he’ll be in touch with you later today about finalising the paperwork. Oh, and if you are indeed pregnant, then you have my congratulations. Otherwise, I recommend plenty of bed rest until you’re well again. Good day to you, Mr Haute-Bellegarde.” 

Geralt stared after Ms Riannon as she exited his office. Any exhilaration that he would have felt at securing such an important client was completely overruled by the idea that she had just implanted. 

_ Surely not, _ he told himself.  _ I can’t be. _

“Eleanor!” he shouted. 

His secretary came hurrying into his office, looking alarmed. “Yes, sir?”

“I need to head out of the office for a while,” he said, rising shakily to his feet. “I might be gone for the rest of the day. Can you see that the paperwork for Ms Riannon is dealt with as soon as possible?”

“Of course, sir.” A smile crept across her face and she asked excitedly, “So, you did it? Calanthe Riannon is our newest client?”

“Uh, yeah. I suppose so,” he replied distractedly, pulling on his winter coat. 

Eleanor squealed and clapped her hands together. “Congratulations, sir! I take that you’re going out to celebrate?”

“Celebrate what?” asked Geralt with a note of panic. Surely, she hadn’t heard what Ms Riannon had said? 

Eleanor’s smile faltered. “Securing a new client, of course.”

“Oh.” Geralt’s shoulders sagged. “Right. Yeah, I’m going out to...celebrate.” 

Geralt hurried past Eleanor without another word. The only thing that he could think about was getting to the nearest chemist and putting this insane theory to rest once and for all. 


	5. Making Your Mind Up

Geralt stared unblinkingly at the pregnancy test. Glared at it, really. The first line had already turned pink, and he was willing it with every fibre of his being to stay that way. 

“Come on, come on, come on…” he muttered under his breath, but within twenty seconds, a second faint strip of pink began to appear parallel to the first one. “Fuck!” 

Geralt tossed the test across the bathroom in frustration and buried his face in his hands. Positive. Again. That made six positives in a row, now. There was a soft knock at the bathroom door then.

“Geralt, love,” Yen called. “Are you alright?”

“No,” he admitted feebly. 

There was a long pause before she asked, “Would you mind if I come in?”

Geralt sighed and his hands slid from his face. “Yeah, the door’s unlocked.”

Yen popped her head through the door and gave him a sad smile. “I take that it wasn’t the result that you were hoping for?” Geralt drew her a withering look, not even dignifying that comment with a response. She entered the room and perched herself on the edge of the bath. “Alright, so you’re pregnant. Not an ideal situation but don’t worry about it—everything’s going to be fine.”

Geralt shook his head in disbelief. “I just can’t believe this is happening. I did everything right! I used protection, and when that fucked up, I took the morning after pill. How can I be pregnant? Maybe the tests aren’t working properly.”

“Six in a row?” she said sceptically. 

Geralt’s shoulders sagged. “Okay, when you put it like that…but I still don’t understand where I went wrong.”

“Out of curiosity, how soon after did you take the morning after pill?”

“The next morning.”

Yen frowned. “It should have worked, then. Unless...well, unless you were already ovulating.”

“And how the hell am I supposed to know when that’s happening?” 

“Oh, I don’t know,” she replied sarcastically. “Maybe every month when you go through your heat? That’s when Omegas are at their most fertile.”

“But I was taking suppressants!” he cried. “Shouldn’t that have helped?”

“Suppressants only help to control your desire, they don’t affect your fertility,” she explained. “The morning after pill works by delaying your ovulation. If you’ve already started ovulating, the pill won’t work. Seriously, Geralt, how could you not know this?”

“Because I’ve never actually tried to get pregnant before, have I?” he snapped. 

Yen sighed and pressed the palms of her hands into her eyes. “I don’t suppose it matters either way now, does it? What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

Yen looked up sharply at him with a surprised expression. “Are you considering keeping it?”

“I said that I don’t know,” he repeated. “You’ve known about it for about as long as I have; I’m still trying to wrap my head around this.”

Yen held her hands up in mock surrender. “Okay. You’ve still got time to consider your options. If you don’t mind me asking—”

“I probably will,” he cut in. “But ask me anyway.”

“Who’s the father?”

Geralt’s stomach dropped. Christ, he’d gotten so caught up on being pregnant, he had neglected to spare a thought for the other responsible party in this mess. “Urgh...you remember that guy I met in White Orchard a few weeks back?”

“The twink in the see-through shirt?” she asked incredulously. _“Him?_ You’re joking.”

“Don’t make me feel worse than I already do!”

“Do you at least remember his name?”

“Yes!” he replied defensively. “It was...Jasper, or something.”

“Jesus Christ…”

“Hold on a minute!” Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he scrolled through his messages until he found one from an unsaved number. “Jaskier. His name’s Jaskier.”

“So, not Jasper.”

“They sound very similar!”

Yen rolled her eyes. “Alright, we have a name. Do we know anything else about this guy?”

Geralt hesitated. “Well, he lives in Camden, I think.”

“Uh huh. What else?”

“And um...he likes music.”

Yen didn’t look impressed. “That’s it?”

“Well, we weren’t doing a lot of talking that night, Yen!” he bristled. “And it wasn’t like I’d planned on ever seeing him again.” 

“Fair point,” she mumbled. “Well, if you do decide to keep it, you’re going to have to tell him.”

“Why?”

“Because he has a right to know!” she cried. “Wouldn’t _you_ want to know?”

Geralt shook his head. “I dunno about that. I mean, he’s probably not going to be all that interested, is he?”

“If he isn’t interested in knowing the kid that he had a hand in making, that’s his loss,” said Yen fiercely. “But you should at least give him the chance to decide that for himself.”

“I can’t tell him.”

“Why not?” she challenged. 

“Because I don’t want to. It’s so embarrassing,” he admitted lamely. His face crumpled and he hung his head in shame. “Oh god, I’ve really fucked up this time.”

Yen’s expression softened. Rising to her feet, she pulled Geralt onto his and hugged him tightly. Slowly, Geralt wrapped his arms around her and rested his head on her shoulder, feeling exhausted by the whole situation. Yen stroked his hair reassuringly and said, “This is a shitty state of affairs but you’re going to get through this. And you won’t have to do it alone. I know that it goes without saying, but please remember that whatever you decide to do, I’ll be there to support you.”

Geralt nodded and mumbled his thanks. He knew that Yen would be there for him no matter what, but it was still reassuring to hear her say it. Taking advantage of the fact that he could avoid looking directly at her, he said quietly, “Before I decide on anything, I’m going to call my mum and talk to her about it.”

Yen’s body tensed. “Are you sure about that?”

“Positive.” Geralt pulled away from her. “Don’t try to talk me out of it.”

“There’d be no point, would there?” she sighed. “Since you’ve obviously already made up your mind. I hope for your sake that she doesn’t let you down again, but...”

“Maybe it’ll be different this time,” he said hopefully.

Yen turned on her heel and left the bathroom, muttering under her breath, “Yeah. You say that every time.”

* * *

Arranging a time and place to meet his mother proved to be predictably awkward. Visenna always seemed to be out wining and dining with some new socialite friends of hers, especially on those rare occasions that Geralt asked to meet with her. He counted his blessings that when he called her this time that she was even in the country, and as luck would have it, he managed to pin her down for breakfast the next morning. Despite the cold weather, they arranged to meet at one of the outdoor restaurants in Covent Garden so that she would be able to smoke with her meal, and Geralt assured her that he wouldn’t take up too much of her time. He sat in the outdoor dining area of _Chez Antoinette_ waiting patiently for her to arrive while nursing a tea with ginger and lemon. Apparently, ginger helped to ease the symptoms of morning sickness, although he hadn’t noticed any difference. He glanced at his watch again and sighed: she was now twenty minutes late. He should have known that she wouldn’t turn up on time, if at all. He decided to give her another ten minutes before calling it quits.

Just as he drained the last of his cold tea and was ready to give up, he spotted a woman with familiar flaming red hair approaching from across the street. Visenna walked up to the restaurant at a leisurely pace, as though she had all the time in the world, and when she spotted Geralt she smiled slightly at him and took her seat at the table.

“Hello darling,” she simpered, stubbing out her cigarette in the ashtray and immediately lighting a fresh one. After arranging herself in her chair, she picked up the menu and began scanning the drinks section. “You’re looking well. Have you lost weight?”

  
Geralt rolled his eyes. “You’re late.”

“Am I?” she replied lazily. “God, I haven’t been here in _ages_ . I’m afraid that I can’t eat too much, darling, Eugenie’s booked us a table at _Alain Ducasse_ this afternoon. I might just have avocado on toast...oh! How about we share a bottle of Petit Chablis? My treat.”

“Isn’t it a bit early for that?” he mused.

“It’s twelve o'clock somewhere,” she chuckled.

Geralt shook his head. “I’m good, thanks.”

“Still on the clock?” she asked, taking a long drag from her cigarette. 

“Not today.”

Visenna’s eyes flitted from the menu towards Geralt. “Then surely you’ll have something with me. Have a beer, if you’d prefer, although it won’t go very well with French cuisine.”

“I’d rather not drink,” he insisted. 

Visenna’s eyes narrowed and she lowered the menu. “Why not?”

Geralt shuffled nervously in his seat. “That’s sort of why I asked to speak to you. I have some news.”

“Good or bad?”

“That depends,” he replied evasively. 

“Well, don’t leave me in suspense any longer,” she drawled. “I’m assuming it’s bad news. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have asked to see me. Don’t tell me that you’re pregnant, that’d be the last thing we need.”

She had said it in jest, but when Geralt didn’t immediately answer, her eyes widened with shock. He cleared his throat and stared at the empty teacup on the table when he spoke again, unable to maintain his mother’s sharp gaze. 

“Your keen observation skills never fail you, do they?” he replied lightly. Visenna didn’t immediately respond. It felt as though the chatter and laughter of the surrounding patrons were coming from a far off distance, entirely disconnected from the tense atmosphere that seemed to permeate from Geralt’s table like an invisible forcefield. As the silence dragged on, Geralt’s insides squirmed. The lingering smell of his mother’s Silk Cuts made his head swim with nausea. Unable to take it any longer, he looked up at Visenna and half-begged, “For god’s sake, say something.”

“What do you want me to say?” she replied tersely, puffing out a stream of smoke through her nostrils like an angry dragon. “I won’t insult you by congratulating you.”

Shame crept up Geralt’s face, turning it a deep shade of pink. “I was hoping that I could count on you to support me through this. Clearly, even that is expecting too much from you.”

“Support you?” she laughed. “Surely you’re not thinking of keeping it?”

“What if I was?” he replied defensively.

“Then you’re even more foolish than I thought,” she retorted. “Think about your job—think about your _life._ How is this going to affect your career?”

“It’s my bloody business, I can do what I like,” he argued. 

“What, are you going to set up a little nursery in your office?” she challenged. “Discuss security details with your clients with the baby in a sling? Don’t be ridiculous, Geralt. It’s just not practical.”

“What’s so ridiculous about it?” he argued. “It’s not like finances are going to be an issue: the company’s doing well, so I can take a step back and focus on myself and the baby for a bit. Then, if and when I feel ready to go back to work—”

“What about the father, then?” she cut in. “Where’s he in all of this? I noticed that you haven’t bothered to mention him.”

Geralt hesitated. “I haven’t told him yet.”

“And what do you think he’ll have to say about it?”

“It doesn’t matter what he thinks,” he argued.

Visenna huffed out a derisive laugh. “You say that now, but just you wait. When he turns around and says that he’s not interested in you or that baby, trust me, you’ll think differently about it. Personally, I think the wisest thing is to just take care of it. You can always have another baby when you’re ready.”

“But I’m ready now,” Geralt shot back.

“With the right man,” she countered.

“I don’t need a man to be able to do this!” he snapped. “Whether or not he wants to be involved has no bearing on my decision.”

Visenna shook her head in disbelief. “You’ve already made up your mind about this, haven’t you?” 

“Yeah, I have,” he replied. “I don’t understand why you’re so against this.” Visenna pulled a face and took another drag of her cigarette. “You don’t think that I can do this, can you?”

Visenna clicked her tongue. “I didn’t say that. It’s just...well…”

“What?”

“You’re not exactly the parenting type, are you?” she shrugged.

Her words struck Geralt like a physical blow to the chest. His mouth fell open and he slouched back in his seat. How naive had he been to think that she would be happy for him about this? How foolish of him to hope that she would somehow flip a switch in her head and realise that this wasn’t about her at all—that her son might actually want her help in dealing with this life-changing decision. No. A leopard never changes its spots, and his mother would never change either. Geralt set his face into a stony expression and placed his clenched fists on his lap.

“Well, you would know about that, wouldn’t you?” he sneered. “You wrote the bloody handbook on poor parenting.”

Visenna bristled at Geralt’s slight. “You’ve got a cheek saying that to me—you didn’t make my job of raising you easy, but I always tried my best with you. I never intended on having children, so when I had you, I had to put my whole life on hold! Everything I had planned was thrown out of the window, but I just had to get on with it, didn’t I?”

“Not without complaint,” he countered. “You never let me forget what a burden I was. Even as a child, I was constantly reminded of how much better your life would have been without me. Well, thank you mother, for martyring yourself on my behalf. You really shouldn’t have bothered.”

“Don’t take that tone with me,” she warned in a low voice. “You’ve wanted for nothing your whole life, I worked like a mule to provide for you! After all the sacrifices I’ve made for you, this is the thanks I get? God, you’ve always been so selfish— you’re just like your father.”

“I wouldn’t know, would I?” he snapped. “Since you never bothered to tell me anything about him either.”

Visenna stabbed her cigarette out in the ashtray and snarled, “I don’t have to listen to this.”

“No, you have a luncheon at the Dorchester to attend,” he sneered. “Glad to see that you’ve got your priorities in order.”

Visenna rose to her feet and slung her handbag over her shoulder. “You know what? Do whatever you like. But when that baby comes and you realise that you’ve made the biggest mistake of your life, don’t come crying to me about it.”

  
  
“Don’t worry, I won’t,” he assured her. “Enjoy your lunch.”

Visenna turned on her heel and left without another word, leaving a visible trail of cigarette smoke in her wake. Geralt tossed some money onto the table for the tea and left, making sure to head in the opposite direction as his mother. The few times they met each other these days, the meeting often ended the same way—with one or both of them angrily storming off. Yen had been right—this had been a terrible idea. But Geralt had (perhaps foolishly) hoped that this time, given the circumstances, things would be different. But his mother was nothing if not consistent. 

Bringing up his absentee father during the argument had probably been a low blow on his part, but he couldn’t feel too guilty about it. It had been something else that Visenna had used as a weapon to guilt-trip Geralt about over the years. Somehow, she had convinced herself that his decision to abandon her while she was pregnant was Geralt’s fault, as though he’d had any say in the matter. In truth, Geralt _had_ felt responsible for it, for a very long time. It was only as he’d grown older that he’d realised his mother was far from infallible and that not everything she said was entirely truthful. 

Thinking about his own father, his thoughts naturally turned towards Jaskier. Geralt dreaded the thought of telling him about this, but he knew all too well what it was like not to have a father in his life. In the off-chance that Jaskier was, in fact, interested in being a part of this child’s life, he couldn’t deny them that opportunity, no matter how embarrassing or awkward it was for him. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and scrolled through it until he found Jaskier’s number. His mother was probably right about one thing—the chances that Jaskier would have any interest in this child’s upbringing were slim to none. Steeling himself, Geralt hit the dial button and raised the phone to his ear. He supposed that there was only one way to find out.


	6. Out of the Blue

Jaskier’s phone buzzed incessantly in his pocket. He hoped that it wasn’t important, but it would have to wait—he was about to begin his first performance for the day. 

He approached the large group of tourists who stood talking amongst themselves outside the entrance of Camden Town Underground Station. Clearing his throat, he plastered a big smile to his face and began the speech that he knew so well now that he could recite it in his sleep.

“Good morning, everyone! Welcome to the Camden Market and Music Legends Walking Tour. My name is Jaskier and I will be your guide on this beautiful, chilly day.”

The crowd of tourists fell silent and shuffled towards Jaskier like zombies, probably stiff from waiting in the cold for the tour to begin. Pointing up the street towards the multicoloured shop fronts that Camden was famous for, he continued his little speech.

“Today, we will journey through time, and learn how iconic British talents like Amy Winehouse, The Sex Pistols, Pink Floyd, and the Rolling Stones transformed Camden Town into the rock and roll capital of the world!” he declared. “We’ll be visiting the beating heart of the city, where you’ll get to enjoy performances from live musicians and sample delicious food from across the world! And don’t you worry, there will be plenty of time to look around the stalls for a spot of shopping. Now, are you ready?”

The tourists mumbled somewhat unenthusiastically that they were, then one of the tourists, a round-faced gentleman with a Union Jack cap on, raised his hand. Jaskier turned his attention to him. “Yes sir, you have a question?”

The man lowered his hand and asked in a thick Californian accent, “Will we be visiting Abbey Road today?”

“I’m afraid not,” said Jaskier with a sunny disposition that he didn’t feel. “Today’s tour will be centred around the Camden area.”

“Why not?” the tourist pouted. 

“Because Abbey road is at least an hour’s walk in the opposite direction,” he explained. “You’re welcome to visit it yourself after this tour has concluded. Any more questions? Yes, Ma’am? Do you have a question about today’s tour?”

Another tourist had raised her hand and she asked, “Is there a McDonald’s around here?”

Jaskier’s smile faltered. “Uh, yes. There’s one about two or three minutes walk up the road there.”

The woman turned and left without so much as a thank you to Jaskier, heading in the direction of the fast food restaurant. Jaskier sighed. Today was going to be a long day. “Any more questions? Nope? Alright then, onward towards Camden Town!”

The tour was wholly unremarkable: tourists asked their usual questions (where were the public toilets? How far away was London Zoo from here?) and he managed not to lose any of them in the bustling markets, which made a nice change. Still, the two hours dragged by and once the tour was concluded, he waved them off after leading them to the nearest underground station—but not before asking them for positive reviews on Tripadvisor.

With an hour’s break before the next tour began, he made his way through North Yard towards _Rudy’s Dirty Vegan Diner._ Triss was standing at the stall, her chestnut hair tucked into a hairnet as she served a long line of customers. Jaskier joined the queue and when it was finally his turn to order Triss’s whole demeanour changed when she caught sight of him, transforming from a stroppy, bored salesperson to her usual self with a big smile. 

“Alright love!” she cried. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m touring the markets today and I’ve got a bit of time before my next one,” he explained. “I was wondering if you fancied joining me for lunch?”

“It’s a date,” she declared. Tearing off her hairnet, she yelled over her shoulder, “Rudy, I’m taking my break!” Turning back to Jaskier, she whispered, “Wait here and I’ll grab us something to eat.”

A few minutes later, Jaskier and Triss were sitting on the edge of the canal with two large Dirty Dog hotdogs in hand. _Bless Triss and her sticky fingers,_ Jaskier thought fondly. The food at the market was delicious but it was bloody expensive. He took a sip from the chocolate peanut butter milkshake that she’d also managed to pinch from the kitchen before handing it back to her. 

“I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up,” he complained. “Standing out in the cold for hours on end, repeating the same lines over and over again. And the _questions_ people ask! God, I’ve lost count the number of times people ask me where Sherlock Holmes lives—not only is he not from Camden, he’s not even real! And it’s not even like I get paid very well for the privilege.”

Triss took a large bite out of her hotdog and shrugged. “It’s a job, innit? Need to pay the bills.”

“I know,” he sighed. “It’s just...this isn’t exactly where I thought I’d find myself at twenty-seven.”

“Sitting at the canal with me eating stolen hotdogs?” she joked. “What did you think you’d be doing?”

“Working in Abbey Road Studios, writing my latest album,” he said dreamily. “Preferably rich and famous. At the very least, able to afford my rent without worrying about when my next paycheque comes in.”

Triss choked back a laugh. “Let’s be honest, even if you were rich and famous, in this town, you’d _still_ be struggling to pay your rent!”

“True,” he acknowledged with a small smile, which quickly fell. “But you know what I mean: I’ve been living and working in London for six years now and I’ve gotten nowhere with my music.”

“You and everyone else,” she quipped. “Don’t get me wrong, you’re a bloody good singer, and you write beautifully. But this is London, mate—we’re not short of talented, creative people here. It’s difficult to get your voice heard above everyone else’s. Sorry if that sounds harsh, but it’s the truth.”

“I know. I’d rather that you were honest with me than spare my feelings with empty promises about how everything will work out in the end. I’m just tired, Triss,” he admitted sadly. “Maybe I should just go home. I’m sure I can talk my parents into letting me move back into their place for a bit until I get back on my feet.”

“And leave me here in this godforsaken city to fend for myself?” she cried. “Don’t you bloody dare.”

“Well, what other reason do I have to stay?” he argued. “As much as I love London, I don’t feel like it loves me back.”

“London is a tough city to live in,” Triss agreed. “But true Londoners tough it out! Besides, think of the culture!”

“Oh yes, the _culture,”_ Jaskier drawled. “I’m waist-deep in it! Nope. That’s not culture, that’s student debt.”

“We should have trained to be doctors,” Triss mused. “Or bankers.”

“We’re not smart enough to do either of those things,” he pointed out.

“Ah well, then. Looks like we were destined to be struggling artists and musicians. I know that things are tough at the moment, but remember you’re not alone.” She nudged Jaskier on the shoulder and smiled. “You’ve got me, haven’t you?”

“Hmm, you make a persuasive argument,” he chuckled. Just then, Jaskier’s phone buzzed again. Pulling it out of his coat pocket, he was surprised to see several missed calls and a text message from—

“Oh my god,” he gasped. “Geralt just texted me!”

“Who?” asked Triss, stuffing the last of her hotdog into her mouth.

“Geralt,” he repeated. “The hot guy that I hooked up with at the club a few weeks ago.”

Triss pulled a face. “Seriously? What does he want?”

Jaskier read the text message and his eyes narrowed. “He’s asking me to call him. What do you think he wants?”

“Why don’t you call him and find out?” she replied sarcastically.

Jaskier’s heart was pounding. Admittedly, when he hadn’t received a reply to his text message after that evening, he’d been sorely disappointed. He’d catalogued his mind-blowing night with Geralt into his wank bank for future use and moved on with his life. But here, two months later, was Geralt reaching out to him. Maybe he was just the type of guy who didn’t like to appear too available? But after several weeks of silence, Jaskier thought if that was the case, then Geralt was taking the biscuit. Still, his curiosity got the better of him and he immediately hit the redial button. It only rang a couple of times when the call connected and he heard Geralt’s voice on the other end of the line.

“Hello?”

Jaskier froze. Shit. How did one speak again? _With words,_ he had to remind himself. _Use your words!_

“Hi! Hello...Geralt,” he stammered. “It’s me—it’s Jaskier, uh...we met a few weeks ago at The White Orchard Club. You um, you wanted me to call you about something?”

“Smooth, Jaskier,” Triss muttered. “Real smooth.”

Jaskier waved his hand dismissively at her before clambering back to his feet and marching away from his friend to get some privacy. 

“Oh hi,” Geralt replied. “Yeah, I did. Um...look, I know this is coming a bit out of the blue but I need to talk to you about something. Could we meet up for dinner tomorrow night?”

Jaskier gaped. Spinning on his heel, he hurried back towards Triss, covered the mouthpiece on his mobile and hissed, “He wants to meet me for dinner!” 

“Do _you_ want to meet him for dinner?” she asked.

“Obviously!”

“Well, tell _him_ that!”

Jaskier quickly composed himself, moved his hand away from the mouthpiece and said as casually as possible, “Yeah, that’d be great! Have you been to _Balans_ before? It’s just round the corner from Chinatown. We could meet there around nine, grab a couple of cocktails…”

“Yeah, that’s fine. Can we meet at six? I’d rather keep it early.”

Jaskier punched the air then. “Six it is. I can’t wait to see you.”

“Yeah,” Geralt replied distractedly. “See you there.”

Geralt ended the call and Jaskier proceeded to dance on the spot with an impromptu victory jig.

“I take that you’ll be staying in London for a little bit longer?” Triss teased.

“At least until tomorrow night,” he said cheerfully before despairing, “Oh god, now I’ll need to find something to wear.”

“What about that shirt I bought you?” she suggested. “It worked a charm the last time.”

But Jaskier shook his head. “He can’t see me wearing the same thing twice in a row! I’ll need to wear something else—something sexy and sophisticated. And preferably cheap.”

Triss laughed. “Something sexy, sophisticated _and_ cheap—in London? You better turn up in your birthday suit then!”

“Maybe I will!” he joked. “You never know, it might guarantee me a second date.”

* * *

Jaskier spent the next morning scouring the local charity shops for something decent to wear on his meagre budget—the less money he spent on clothes, the more he could spend on dinner that evening. The first few shops were slim pickings, but when he visited his local Oxfam he stumbled across a wrinkle-free dress shirt that fit him like a glove. He finished off the look with a pair of dark wash skinny jeans that he found tucked into the corner of his wardrobe and even made the effort to polish his chelsea boots. When he’d sent a selfie to Triss to get her opinion, she admitted that while she was disappointed that he hadn’t worn his birthday suit, she thought that he looked great. 

Arriving outside the restaurant shortly before six o’clock, he was surprised to see Geralt already waiting for him by the entrance. They greeted each other a little awkwardly, Jaskier moving in to give Geralt a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek while Geralt thrust out his hand for Jaskier to shake it. After a fumbled greeting, Jaskier checked his watch and asked, “I’m surprised to see you here already. I’m not late, am I?”

“No, I always arrive a little earlier than intended,” Geralt explained. “Force of habit.”

“Oh. Okay. Well...shall we go in?” Jaskier held the door open for Geralt and ushered him into the restaurant. “I managed to get a table booked for us.”

Once the waiter showed them to their seats, he asked them what drinks they would like. Jaskier quickly scanned the page for the cheapest drink available. “Could I have a glass of your Chenin Blanc, please?”

The waiter nodded and made a note of the order in his pad. “Medium or large?”

“Small, please.”

The waiter pursed his lips but made no comment. Jaskier knew exactly what he was thinking because he’d been in his shoes many times himself—this table would be bad for tips. Turning his attention to Geralt, he asked, “And for you, sir?”

“Just water for me, thank you.”

“Are you sure?” asked Jaskier uncertainly. “You can have anything you like. I’ll buy the first round.”

“Water’s fine,” Geralt insisted, handing the bemused waiter his drinks menu. 

“Very good, sir,” he drawled before snatching Jaskier’s menu from his hands and marching back towards the kitchen. Jaskier smiled nervously at Geralt, whose gaze seemed to focus on everything else in the room but Jaskier. 

“Nice place, eh?” he prompted. 

Geralt cast a disinterested glance around the restaurant’s cosy interior. “It’s alright, I suppose.”

“Have you been here before?” 

“No.”

“Cool, me neither. You look great, by the way.”

“Thanks.” Geralt finally looked up at Jaskier then. “You look nice, too.”

Jaskier couldn’t help but feel immensely pleased at the compliment. Evidently, the effort he’d put in had paid off. “Thank you! My friend, Triss, tried to talk me into wearing that chiffon shirt of mine again, but I thought better of it.”

A small smile crept across Geralt’s face. “That’s a shame. I really liked that shirt.”

“Yeah? Well, maybe I can wear it next time we meet up,” Jaskier offered, winking at him. 

Geralt’s reaction to this was to grimace and lower his gaze. Jaskier was confused: Geralt had been the one to suggest that they meet up, but so far, he was acting as though he’d rather be anywhere but here in Jaskier’s company. The mixed signals were sending Jaskier’s overactive imagination into overdrive—what was going on with this guy? The waiter arrived then with their drinks and asked if they were ready to order their meals. 

“Just give us a couple more minutes,” Jaskier requested. When the waiter was out of earshot, he said to Geralt, “I’m gonna be honest with you, I was surprised that you invited me out to dinner. Pleasantly surprised, mind you, but I’d just figured that after you didn’t text me back after that night, you...well, I figured that you weren’t interested in seeing me again.”

Geralt grimaced. “Yeah, I’m sorry that I didn’t call you back. I’ve been busy with work and—” He stopped talking abruptly, took a swig of his water and spoke again. “I just thought it would be good for us to hang out and...I dunno, get to know each other a little bit better since we didn’t really get a chance to talk much the last time.”

Jaskier chuckled. “Nope, that we didn’t. Well, I’m all ears, now—tell me about yourself. How’ve you been since we last saw each other?”

Geralt looked suddenly nervous. “Yeah, that’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about. There’s something that I need to tell you.”

“Okay…”

Geralt took a deep breath and forced himself to look up into Jaskier’s eyes then. “I’m pregnant.”


	7. The Bombshell

Jaskier blinked. “Sorry, what was that?”

“I’m pregnant,” Geralt repeated.

“...with a baby?”

Geralt drew Jaskier a withering look. “No, with a litter of kittens. Yes, with a baby—and you’re the father.”

Jaskier’s mouth fell open. _“I’m_ the father?”

Geralt sighed and closed his eyes. “Yes.”

Jaskier felt faint all of a sudden. He grabbed the edge of the dinner table to steady himself but the restaurant seemed to spin around him of its own accord. “But—if you’re pregnant, that would mean you’re…”

“An Omega,” Geralt confirmed, his expression hardening. “Why, have you got a problem with that?”

“What? No!” Jaskier cried. “No, I’m just...shit, if I had known that, I—”

“You would have what? You would have thought twice about coming home with me?” Geralt finished for him, his eyes flashing with anger. 

A stab of annoyance cut through his shock and he glared at Geralt. “I didn’t say that.”

“But you were thinking it.”

“I really wasn’t,” he shot back angrily. “Don’t go putting words in my mouth, you don’t know the first thing about me!”

“Umm, do you gentlemen need more time to look at the menus?”

Jaskier turned to find the waiter hovering awkwardly next to their table. He wanted to throw his overpriced wine in the waiter’s face and tell him to piss off, but he managed to grit out, “Yes, we need more time to...discuss our options. We’ll wave you over when we need you.”

“Very good sir,” the waiter mumbled before he scurried out of sight. 

Jaskier turned his attention back to Geralt, whose expression was a storm of emotions. At first glance, he looked angry. But the way that his shoulders were hunched forward, like he was trying to make himself look small or invisible (a mean feat, considering his hulking stature), Jaskier realised that he wasn’t angry—not entirely—he was embarrassed. And scared. Jaskier couldn’t help but feel sympathy for him then. What little he knew of Geralt, he seemed like the type of person that liked—perhaps even needed—to feel in control of everything around him. He’d seen it in the way that Geralt carried himself, both in and out of the bedroom. Everything about him seemed considered—the way he spoke so carefully, the way he walked down the street. And with all that in mind, Jaskier couldn’t think of anything scarier or more uncertain—more out of control—than being pregnant. 

Taking a moment to compose himself, he downed the last of his meagre glass of wine before speaking again. “What I was going to say, before you jumped down my throat, was that if I’d have known you were an Omega, I’d have worn two condoms at once, just to be on the safe side. I don’t care if you’re an Omega, I’d still have gone home with you.”

Geralt looked up at him with a surprised expression. “Really?”

“Obviously,” he replied, rolling his eyes. “You’re bloody gorgeous.”

Geralt couldn’t help but huff out a laugh at that. “Well, that’s unexpected. Most people are less...understanding. I’m sure you can imagine the reaction I normally get when they find out.”

“Well, I’m not most people.”

“Evidently. For the record, you should never wear more than one condom at a time. It actually offers less protection than just one.”

“It does?”

Geralt nodded. “Wearing two condoms at once can cause friction between them, weakening the material and increasing the chance that it’ll break.”

Jaskier sighed. “Well, it looks like we were screwed either way, then, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, looks like it.”

“I still can’t believe this is happening,” said Jaskier, more to himself than Geralt. “ _How_ did this happen?”

“Well, the condom broke, for starters,” Geralt quipped before adding, “I took the morning-after pill as well, but...well, clearly, that didn’t work.”

“Shit.”

“I know.”

Jaskier took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay, the situation isn’t ideal by any means, but we can handle it. What do we do now?”

Geralt shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “That’s another thing that I wanted to talk to you about. I’ve got my first scan at the doctor’s next week, I thought that—if you wanted to—you could come with me.”

Jaskier felt as though the floor had disappeared beneath his feet then. “You’re keeping it?”

“Yes, I’ve decided to keep it.”

Jaskier slumped back in his chair, trying to process this revelation. He didn’t know what was more shocking— the fact that Geralt was pregnant, or that he intended to keep the baby. The far-reaching implications of that seemed too big for Jaskier to grasp. It was too much for one person to deal with, too big for Jaskier. A few minutes ago, he’d been concerned with how much a glass of white wine would cost him. That was blessed ignorance he’d never know again.

“I’ll understand if you don’t want to do that,” Geralt continued. “Neither of us planned on this happening, but let me make myself clear: regardless of what you decide, I’m keeping it. If you don’t want any part of the baby’s life, that’s fine, I won’t hold it against you. But I thought that I should at least ask and give you the opportunity to decide for yourself one way or the other. If you want to do this with me, then great. If not, I won’t bother you again after tonight.”

“Okay.”

Geralt stilled. “Okay? Okay, you want me to leave you out of this?”

“I mean okay, I’ll come to the doctor’s appointment with you.”

Geralt’s eyes widened with surprise. “Really?”

“Yeah, really.” 

“Are you sure?” he asked uncertainly.

“Yeah, I’m sure.” When Geralt still looked sceptical, Jaskier sighed. “You’re right—neither of us planned on this happening. But it did, so we’ll just need to deal with it, won’t we?”

“I guess so,” he said slowly. “You’re handling this remarkably well.”

“You think so? Huh. It probably just hasn’t sunk in yet.” Jaskier felt strangely disconnected from his surroundings. It was like he was watching himself from above, moving his lips to speak and saying words that felt foreign to him. “Are you hungry?”

“Not really.”

“Me neither.” His appetite, along with his other faculties, seemed to have fled him for the time being. “Do you want to get out of here?”

Geralt looked relieved. “Yeah, if you wouldn’t mind.”

The waiter looked glad to see them leave as Jaskier paid their small bill. As they exited the restaurant, the cold night air struck them both like a slap to the face and Jaskier instinctively tucked his hands under his armpits. Geralt noticed him shivering and shook his head. 

“Is there a particular reason that you chose not to wear a coat in this weather?” 

“I wasn’t really thinking with my brain when I was deciding what to wear tonight,” he admitted. “So, what do we do now?”

“Well, you can take my coat, for starters.” Geralt slipped off his jacket and tried to put it around Jaskier’s shoulders, but he shrugged it off.

“Don’t do that!” he cried. “You’re the one that’s pregnant, you should be trying to keep warm and stuff.”

Geralt snorted. “I’m only a few weeks along, you can’t even see anything yet.”

“Even so, I’m not taking your coat,” he argued. “That wouldn’t be very gentlemanly of me.”

Geralt smirked and pulled his coat back on. “Suit yourself.”

They stood on the side of the road, staring at each other in awkward silence for a few long moments.

“So...what now?” asked Jaskier.

“Well, the doctor’s appointment is next Friday at eleven. You could come ‘round to the flat first and we could head along together. Or you could just meet me at the clinic, if you’d rather?”

Jaskier considered his options for a moment. “I’ll meet you at the flat.”

“Okay,” Geralt pulled out his phone. “I’ll send you my address.”

“I remember where you live,” Jaskier assured him. “The old Marquees Club. It’s kinda hard to forget.”

“Oh. Alright then,” Geralt slipped his phone back into his coat pocket. “Well...I guess I’ll see you next week.”

“Okay.” Geralt looked as though he wanted to say something else but thought better of it. As he turned to leave, Jaskier called after him. “How big is it?”

Geralt paused and frowned. “How big is what?”

“The baby,” he clarified. “I know you said that you can’t see anything yet but I was just curious how big it was. Sorry if it’s a stupid question, I don’t know anything about being pregnant—or babies, for that matter.”

Geralt looked surprised by the question, but he shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t know. I’m afraid I know as much about all of this as you do.”

“Well, that’s a good thing,” said Jaskier encouragingly. “That means that we’re both going to be learning things as we go along.”

“Huh. Yeah, I suppose that’s a good way of looking at it,” said Geralt with a faint smile which quickly faded. “I am sorry, you know. About all of this.”

Jaskier shook his head. “It is what it is. Whatever happens, we’re just gonna have to deal with it.”

“I suppose we will.”

After sharing a few strained niceties, Jaskier and Geralt said their goodbyes and parted ways for the evening. Jaskier shuffled towards the underground station at Leicester Square in a daze. He was still reeling from the bombshell that Geralt had just placed on his lap, and he wasn’t quite sure where he was going or what to do next. Jaskier decided to do what he always did at times like these: call Triss.

The phone only rang once and she answered his call. “If you’re calling me this early, I take that the date didn’t go well.”

“You have no idea,” he groaned. “I need to speak to you.”

“I’m all ears.”

“In person.”

“Okay…” she said slowly. “Is everything alright?”

“No,” he grimaced. “Not really.”

* * *

It was only as he made the journey to Triss's flat that the reality of his situation finally began to sink in. By the time he arrived at her place a half hour later, he was in full panic mode. Luckily for him, when Triss opened the door, she had a large glass of wine waiting for him.

“I figured you’d need this,” she said. When he snatched the glass from her and downed the contents in three large gulps, her eyes widened with surprise. “Okay, I take that the date went _really_ bad. Should I put away the wine and dig out the gin instead?”

Jaskier stumbled past Triss into the flat and collapsed on her couch in a heap. “Triss, I’ve fucked up. Like, _really_ fucked up this time.”

“What the hell did you do?” she asked, sounding increasingly alarmed. “Jaskier, what happened?”

Jaskier hugged one of the bohemian cushions to his chest. “It’s Geralt. He’s pregnant.”

Triss’s eyes grew comically large then. “He’s _what?”_

“He’s pregnant,” Jaskier repeated. “And the baby...it’s mine.”

Triss collapsed onto the couch next to him. “Holy shit. What are you going to do?” When he told her that Geralt had decided to keep the baby, all of the colour drained from her face. “Oh my god.”

“He’s got an appointment with the doctor next week to get his first scan,” he continued. “He asked me to go with him.”

Triss tensed. “And what did you say to that?”

“I said that I’d go with him.”

The tension in her body immediately eased and she smiled. “You did?”

“Of course, I did!” he cried. “Why is everyone so surprised by that?”

“I’m not! Not really. It’s just—oh, Jaskier,” she choked, tears welling in her eyes. She threw her arms around Jaskier and hugged him tightly.

“I don’t believe this,” he grumbled. “I’m the one whose entire life has just been thrown into chaos and _you’re_ the one who’s crying!”

Triss pulled away and slapped him on the shoulder. “Let me have my moment! I’m just proud of you, alright? A lot of guys in the same position would have tucked tail and ran, given the chance.”

“I don’t think taking responsibility for my actions is something to be proud of,” he argued. “It’s just the right and decent thing to do! Okay yeah, we both fucked up, but Geralt’s the one that’s going to have to shoulder the burden for nine months. I’m not happy about it, but what kind of person would that make me if I left him to deal with that on his own?”

“You’re a good man, Jaskier,” she said fondly. “You’ve no idea how much.”

“I don’t feel very good,” he muttered. “Mostly, I feel confused and terrified.”

“I think that’s an understandable response, given the circumstances.” 

Fear gripped Jaskier again and he clutched the cushion to his chest a little tighter. “I don't know how I stayed so calm when I was talking to him. I was like, _‘It is what it is. Whatever happens, we’ll just have to deal with it.’_ What the hell was I talking about?! I don’t have a clue about how to deal with this! Oh god, what am I going to do? I barely earn enough to take care of myself, how am I going to raise a child?”

“You’re not going to be dealing with this alone!” she reminded him. “Geralt’s going to be there, and I’ll be there to help as much as I can—and so will your parents.”

Jaskier had forgotten all about his parents. “Oh god, I’ll need to tell them too, won’t I? They’re gonna be so pissed.”

“Yeah, you should probably mention it at some point within the next nine months,” she joked, but Jaskier didn’t laugh. He couldn’t. His feelings of fear and inadequacy were so all-consuming that he was physically incapable of laughter. His thoughts were spiralling; he couldn’t help but imagine every possible nightmarish scenario coming to fruition in excruciating technicolour in his mind’s eye. 

“What if I drop the baby on its head?” he thought aloud. 

“Don’t be silly. You’re not going to do that,” Triss assured him.

“But what if I do? What if I break them or hurt them by accident? I’d never forgive myself. Or what if I screw them up in other ways?” he rambled. “I’m a constantly anxious, _completely_ neurotic, walking, talking mess. They’d need years of therapy with me as a parent!”

“Oh, for the love of god, you’re not that bad!” Triss laughed. “And let’s be honest, _nobody’s_ parents are perfect—ours certainly weren’t and we turned out well enough.”

“Did we?” he shot back sceptically. “Did we really?”

“Well, I did!” she insisted, looking a little offended at his insinuation. “Look, the fact that you care enough to be worried about stuff like this just makes me all the more confident that you’ll do a good job. At least you give a shit about how your kid’s going to turn out, that has to count for something.”

But Jaskier shook his head. “I’m not ready for this.”

“I don’t think anyone’s ever ready for kids,” she argued. “You just have to adapt to them when they get here. You know, Geralt’s probably asking himself the same questions right now.”

Jaskier stilled and looked hopefully at Triss. “You think so?”

“Without a doubt. If you want my advice, you should tell him everything that you’ve just told me. It’ll probably reassure him to know that he’s not the only one feeling out of his depth.”

Jaskier considered Triss’s words for a moment. “Yeah...yeah, maybe I will.”

She put her arm around Jaskier’s shoulders. “Are you feeling a bit calmer now?”

Jaskier nodded. “A little bit.”

“Good. Now, let’s try to find the positives in this situation, shall we? At least you’ve got a few months to get used to the idea before the baby arrives,” she said brightly, rubbing his shoulder. “And on that note…” Without further explanation, Triss hopped back onto her feet and disappeared into the adjoining kitchen.

“What are you doing?” Jaskier called after her, but when he heard the unmistakable sound of a champagne cork popping, he rolled his eyes. “Oh great…”

Triss reappeared a moment later brandishing a bottle of magnum and two cups. “Now, I know that this has been a somewhat traumatic evening for you—”

“That’s putting it mildly.”

“Still, it isn’t every day that someone becomes a parent,” she continued, plopping herself back onto the couch. She poured two cupfuls of champagne and held out one to Jaskier. “I’d like to propose a toast to you and Geralt, and the exciting journey that you are about to embark on.”

“I don’t really feel like this is a cause for celebration.”

“Commiserations, then,” she countered. “At least have a drink with me. I’ve already opened the bottle.”

Jaskier sighed and took the proffered cup. Clinking their mugs together, he took a swig of the champagne and grimaced as the sharp, acidic liquid burned his throat. “Jesus Christ, Triss, this is disgusting.”

“Well, I’m sorry if my cheap booze offends your refined palate!” she replied defensively. “I’m not made of money, you know.”

“It smells like petrol,” he grumbled before holding out his mug. “Pour me another one.”

Triss cackled and topped up his mug. “I still can’t believe it. You’re going to be a daddy!”

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Me neither.”


	8. Late Night Confessional

During his military days, Geralt had faced many crises, all far more immediate and dangerous than the prospect of having a baby. He’d been deployed to numerous warzones, taken part in countless dangerous reconnaissance missions and raids, and had been in more sticky situations than he cared to remember. He’d been through a lot in the thirty-nine years he’d been walking this earth, yet he’d always come out the other end relatively unscathed, which he was thankful for on a daily basis. One would think that with all of these experiences under his belt, pregnancy would be a walk in the park by comparison. On the contrary, Geralt had never been more terrified in his life.

Not that his military experience had left him completely ill-prepared. One of the major benefits of serving was learning fear-management techniques; they were essential for survival in combat situations and should stand him in good stead with his current predicament. Geralt had always been a firm advocate of facing your fears head-on—avoiding things only ever made things worse. Geralt knew that he would adapt however he needed to in order to take care of this child, and if that meant raising it alone, so be it. That didn’t, however, make the prospect of doing so any less daunting. But confronting Jaskier earlier that evening had helped alleviate a lot of the fears that he’d built up in his own mind—although he had been fully prepared for Jaskier to reject him, he was relieved beyond words that he hadn’t. 

He was still shit-scared about the whole thing, but he felt like he could handle it a little better now knowing that Jaskier was on board. Going home and cleaning his flat from top to bottom had helped, too. He’d always found completing simple tasks to be an excellent stress-reliever as it helped him feel more in control of his environment—at least, for a little while. After he’d run out of things to clean and tidy, he began rearranging the books on his shelves, then refolded all of his clothes. It occurred to him then that he’d need to buy everything in a bigger size soon and he added shopping for paternity clothes to his ever-growing list of things to do. 

Once he ran out of things to do, he got ready for bed and spent the next couple of hours flicking through the bundle of baby books Yen had lent him. He’d rolled his eyes when he’d read the title of the first book, _Give Birth Like a Feminist,_ but the contents were surprisingly useful; they highlighted the importance of birth plans to human rights, with a particular emphasis on the rights of Omegas. 

When his eyes began to feel sore and itchy from tiredness, Geralt tossed the book onto the bedside table, switched off the lamp and turned onto his side, staring into the darkness as his thoughts returned to Jaskier. He’d been surprised at how well Jaskier had taken the news. He had braced himself for a plethora of responses—denial, anger, confusion, even a few tears wouldn’t have surprised him—but despite the initial shock, Jaskier seemed to have taken the news rather well. Perhaps a little too well. 

To be honest, Jaskier’s calm and understanding demeanour had annoyed Geralt a little bit. Which was a silly reaction to have, he knew that. But when Geralt had first realised that he was pregnant, he’d been so angry—a little bit angry with Jaskier because he was the other culprit in this mess, but mostly with himself for allowing this to happen in the first place. Once the initial anger had receded, the fear had set in, and that was proving to be more challenging to get past. He still wanted the kid, no doubt about it, but it had taken him some time to calm down and be able to think through his options before coming to that decision. Jaskier, meanwhile, seemed to be taking the whole thing in his stride.

Geralt sighed and rolled onto his back. Well, he supposed that should be a reassuring sign. Although, he couldn’t help but feel a bit embarrassed at how badly he reacted to the news by comparison. Geralt struggled to get to sleep that night, and just when he was beginning to finally doze off, he jerked awake again with the sound of his phone vibrating across his bedside table. He reached blindly for the phone and squinted trying to see who the fuck was calling him at this hour, his eyes stinging from the bright LED light of his screen. When Jaskier’s name popped up on the screen, Geralt’s stomach dropped. Answering the call, he pressed the phone to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Helloooooooo?” a clearly inebriated voice replied. “Geralt? Hey-ho, you answered my call! It’s me—it’s Jaskier! How you doin’?”

“Do you know what time it is?” he croaked.

“Uhh…” After a short pause, Jaskier answered. “It’s half-past two in the morning. Did I wake you up?”

“Yes.”

“Ah, bugger. Sorrysorrysorry,” he rambled. “Sorry to bother you but I reeeeeeally need to talk to you. Are you busy?”

“I was busy sleeping before you called,” Geralt grumbled, flopping onto his back, but Jaskier was only half-listening. 

“Coolcoolcool. Look, I have to tell you something. It’s important. No, it’s _imperative_ that I tell you this immediately. Because tomorrow morning, I’ll be too sober to be honest with you, so I’m doing it now while I’m blind brave and drunk.”

Geralt knew that he should just hang up then and call Jaskier in the morning, but his curiosity got the better of him, so he closed his eyes and sighed. “Okay.”

“Listen,” Jaskier slurred. “We—you and me—are gonna be daddies, right?”

“Mmmhmm.”

“Right. And babies are like...huge. I mean, not physically huge, they’re really very small—and fragile. Very squidgy and small but they break easy, so we must be _very_ careful not to break them. I’ve already promised Triss that I won’t drop this one, and I’ll try my best not to screw them up too much. I mean, I’ll _try—_ they’ll probably still need years of therapy with me as their father, and I’m not sure how I’m gonna afford that since I barely earn enough to pay my rent right now, but I’ll figure it out. Don’t you worry, whatever happens, I just want you to know that I will provide for you and the baby. Hold on, I need to pee.”

Geralt groaned and rubbed his face as he listened to the rustling and clanging sounds of Jaskier stumbling through a house, no doubt bumping into things, as he made his way to the bathroom. When he eventually heard the toilet flush, Jaskier spoke again.

“Shit. Hello? You still there?”

“I’m still here,” Geralt replied. “So, was that what you wanted to tell me? That you needed to take a piss and you won’t drop the baby?”

“Whaaa?” he slurred. “Oh, no. No, I just wanted to tell you that I’ve been thinking a lot and I realised something—that I am a selfish person.”

Geralt frowned. “What?”

“I mean, I don’t think that I’m an evil person, but on the inside, I know that I am a selfish person,” Jaskier continued, his voice sounding strained now. “My own comfort and ambitions have always come first and...and this selfishness in me, it’s the _opposite_ of love. And I’m supposed to love this baby —because they _need_ it— but I...I don’t know how I’m going to be able to love something that much, as much as it needs me to. And _then_ I start thinking, if I can’t love it enough, and I can’t even afford to give it a decent life, what the hell am I doing? I don’t feel like I have anything to offer you or this baby. I work shitty jobs that don’t pay well, I’m up to my eyeballs in debt, I’m just a mess—a sad, drunken mess that’s probably getting on your nerves telling you all of this. I probably shouldn’t be telling you this. Sorry, I’m drunk. Urgh, I’ve drank way too much. I’m gonna feel like shit tomorrow.”

Jaskier fell silent and Geralt took a moment to process the admission. “Jaskier, I think it would be better if we talked about this in the morning.”

“Yeah, probably,” he mumbled. “Sorry to bother you. I’m just scared I’m gonna fuck this up.”

“It’s fine.” Geralt hesitated before admitting, “I know you probably won’t remember me saying this come morning, but I have a lot of the same concerns.”

“Really?” said Jaskier hopefully. “You’re not just saying that to make me feel less bad?”

“Definitely not,” he assured him. “To be honest, it makes me feel better knowing that you’re freaking out about this as much as I am.”

“You don’t look like you’re freaking out.”

“I’ve got a very convincing poker face,” he confided. “Comes in handy in my line of work.”

“You know, you still haven’t told me what you do for work,” said Jaskier in an accusatory tone. “You’re built like a tank, you’re obviously rich and you’re super sneaky secretive about yourself.” Jaskier lowered his voice and he murmured, “If you’re like, a spy, or something, you can tell me. I won’t tell anyone. Well, except for Triss, but you can trust her. She’s the one that bought me that shirt of mine that you like so much. She's passed out next to me at the moment, not that you needed to know that. And _she's_ the one that said I should call you and tell you how I feel, so really this is her fault.”

Geralt couldn't help but smile. Triss sounded like Jaskier's version of Yen. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not a spy.”

“Mmm, disappointing,” he sighed. “Wait a minute. If you were actually a spy, then obviously you would deny it. So _are_ you a spy?”

“Goodnight, Jaskier.”

“Geralt…”

“Yes?”

“I just wanted to say that I think you’re really brave,” he said sincerely. “Even if you’re not a spy. And that’s not the drink talking, I really mean it. I’m not as brave as you but I’m gonna be there for you and the baby, mark my words.”

“Thank you.”

“I also wanted to say that you really did look very sexy tonight,” he continued. “Your biceps looked like they were gonna rip through your shirt. How do you even get your arms that big? You must lift dumbbells in your sleep or something.”

“Thanks.”

“Your arse looked lovely, too,” he added. “Not important, I know, but it had to be said.”

“I’m hanging up now.”

“Alright then. G’night.”

Geralt ended the call and rolled onto his side again. Well, hadn’t that drunken phone call been enlightening? Evidently, Jaskier wasn’t immune to the same fears that he was having. Now that _was_ reassuring. 


	9. Reality Bites

The next morning, Geralt had a text message waiting for him from Jaskier that simply read _Sorry_ with a sad face emoji. Geralt replied, assuring him that it was fine, but if Jaskier wanted to talk in the future he’d rather he did it when he was sober. They exchanged a couple of texts throughout the week, mostly Jaskier checking in on Geralt to see how he was feeling or if he needed anything, which Geralt told him he didn’t. 

Geralt woke the morning of the first ultrasound feeling apprehensive. He hoped that going for his morning run and lifting some weights would help put his mind at ease, but it didn’t seem to be working today. Instead, he found himself pacing the flat and checking his watch every couple of minutes. Despite Jaskier’s assurances that he would be there, Geralt still had a niggling doubt that he would actually turn up today. But just after ten o’clock, the front door buzzer rang. Still trying not to get his hopes up—it could be the postman buzzing to get into the building—he pressed the answer button.

“Hello?”

“Hey, it’s Jaskier.”

Relief swept over Geralt then. “Hey. I’ll be down in a sec, I just need to put on my shoes.”

“Actually, do you mind if I come up for a minute before we head out?”

Geralt frowned. “Uh, sure.” 

He buzzed Jaskier in and left the front door open for him. A minute later, there was a polite knock at the door and Jaskier stood with his hands behind his back wearing an adorable sheepish expression.

“Morning,” he said nervously. “How’re you feeling?”

“Like I’m bursting for a piss. I got told that I needed to drink a pint of water an hour before the appointment,” he groused. “I see that you decided to wear a coat today.”

Jaskier looked down at his navy blue puffer jacket and smiled. “Yeah, I was thinking with my brain this morning.”

“That makes a nice change,” Geralt quipped.

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “Oh, ha ha. Well, you look nice today. I mean—you always look nice, obviously.”

Geralt smirked and pulled on his own winter coat. “You wanted to talk to me about something?”

“Oh. Yeah. Well, I wanted to give you something.” Jaskier thrust the something, which turned out to be a bouquet of red roses, towards Geralt. “Here you go.”

Geralt stared. “What are those?”

“Flowers.”

“I can see that. What are they for?”

“They’re for you, of course,” Jaskier laughed nervously. “Consider it an apology for my phone call last week. And...well, I just wanted to get them for you—to be nice.”

Surprised at the gesture, Geralt took the proffered flowers from Jaskier and turned them over in his hand. Nobody had ever bought him flowers before, so he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with them. He sat them on the table by the door and stepped past Jaskier. “We better get a move on or we’ll be late.”

The Harley Street GP that Geralt had made an appointment with was only a twenty minute walk from the flat, so even though they stopped so Jaskier could grab a coffee, they still arrived in plenty of time. That suited Geralt just fine because he preferred to arrive early for appointments and social events so that he could get the lay of the land. When they arrived outside the handsome whitewash townhouse, Jaskier paused.

“Whoa, we’re going in there?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Geralt climbing the marble steps. “Why, what’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing,” Jaskier replied quickly. “I—well, this is just nicer than I expected.”

“What were you expecting?” asked Geralt curiously, holding the door open for Jaskier. 

“Doesn’t matter,” Jaskier followed Geralt inside. “Am I allowed to take my coffee in here?”

“They won’t mind.”

As they sat in the waiting room for their turn to be seen, Geralt watched Jaskier out of the corner of his eye with growing amusement. Jaskier prodded the plush leather couch that he was sitting on and hummed approvingly under his breath.

“You approve?” he asked.

“It’s nice,” Jaskier acknowledged. “A lot nicer than my GP clinic, the seats there are hard plastic and drilled into the floor. This place definitely isn’t state-funded, is it?”

“No,” Geralt hesitated before admitting, “Doctor von Gratz was recommended to me by a friend. Omega pregnancies are his specialism.”

“Ah, okay,” Jaskier nodded in understanding. “Getting someone with his expertise on the NHS would be…”

“Unlikely.”

“Gotcha.”

Just then, a door to the left opened and an elderly gentleman with short grey hair appeared. “Geralt Roger Eric du Haute-Bellegarde?”

Jaskier pulled a face. “That’s your full name?”

“Don’t start,” Geralt warned, rising to feet.

They entered Doctor von Gratz’s office and he beckoned them to take the empty chairs in front of his desk before closing the door behind him. “How can I help you today?”

Geralt glanced at Jaskier before answering. “Well, like I said on the phone, I recently found out that I’m pregnant.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” he grunted. “My GP said that I should arrange to have an ultrasound done, so…”

“Here we are,” Jaskier chipped in brightly.

“Alright then. Geralt, would you join me over here at the examination table and we’ll have a look at what’s going on, shall we?”

Doctor von Gratz pulled back a curtain at the corner of his office to reveal an examination table and ultrasound equipment. Geralt lay on the table and pulled up his shirt, shivering slightly as the doctor squirted a large dollop of ultrasound gel onto his stomach. 

“Uncross your legs, please,” he asked. “It’ll make it easier to see what’s happening. Ready? Okay, here we go…” 

Geralt grimaced as the doctor pressed the ultrasound probe onto his stomach. God, why did they make you drink all of that water before doing this? He glanced at Jaskier to find him sitting on the edge of his seat, his eyes fixed on the screen. He looked as nervous as Geralt felt.

“Ah!” the doctor exclaimed. “There we are.”

Geralt’s head whipped back around to look at the screen. “What?”

“There,” Doctor von Gratz pointed to a dark blob on the screen. “That’s the amniotic sac, and that…” he moved his finger down towards the grey, fuzzy blob inside the sac. “...is the embryo. You can see the head here and the spine...and that is the heartbeat.”

“Oh my god,” Jaskier croaked.

“Fuck,” Geralt whispered. “I really am pregnant, then?”

“Yup! About nine or ten weeks, I’d say. Congratulations.” 

Geralt stared at the screen. To be honest, he wasn’t entirely sure what the hell he was looking at, but then something that looked suspiciously like a hand appeared to wave at him. “Is that a hand?”

“It is,” the doctor smiled. “Lots of movement like that is a good sign. It’s still too early in the pregnancy for you to feel it, but you should start to feel the baby move between sixteen and twenty-four weeks.” He turned to Jaskier and asked, “Would your husband like to take a closer look?”

“We’re not married,” said Geralt quickly.

“Yeah, we’re not—I’m just the father,” Jaskier stammered.

“That’s alright,” the doctor assured him. “You’re welcome to come and take a closer look if you’d like. Come on, you don’t have to be shy.”

Jaskier hesitated before getting to his feet and moving to Geralt’s side. His eyes were as wide as saucers as he stared at the screen. “Shit. This is really happening, isn’t it?”

“That it is,” the doctor confirmed. “Let me print out a couple of pictures for you both.”

The good doctor was kind enough to let Geralt use his toilet immediately after the examination was concluded. He arranged for Geralt to come back in a few weeks for a follow-up scan, took a couple of blood samples and told him to start taking folic acid and vitamin D supplements.

“I assume that you like lifting weights?” he asked, giving Geralt a quick once-over. “If it’s part of your daily routine, then it’s fine to continue as is for the time being, but you should avoid lifting weights lying on your back from now on. The important thing is not to over-exert yourself or strain too much. I’ll see you again in a few weeks.”

When they exited the building, Jaskier was still holding the ultrasound image in his hand. He looked as though a strong wind could blow him over, and he jumped when Geralt touched his shoulder.

“Are you alright?” Geralt asked.

“I’m fine!” Jaskier’s voice cracked and he looked at the picture in his hand again. “It just...feels real now, if you get what I mean.”

Geralt sighed and stuffed his hands into his coat pockets. “Yeah, I get it. It’s one thing saying it, it’s something else entirely when you actually see it.”

Jaskier carefully placed the photograph in his wallet and turned to Geralt. “Are you working today?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” he sighed. “I’ve got back-to-back meetings this afternoon. What about you?”

“I took the day off because I wasn’t sure how long this would take. I was wondering if you, um...if you’ve got time we could go for a coffee or something first?”

“I need to be careful with my caffeine intake,” Geralt grumbled. “I’m limited to two cups a day now.”

Jaskier looked crestfallen. “Oh. No worries. I guess I’ll just see you...when suits you best?”

“Well, the next ultrasound is in six weeks.”

“Oh. Right.”

Geralt realised then that he didn’t actually want to wait that long to see Jaskier again. “I don’t have time today, but if you want to come over to my place tomorrow night, we can have dinner. I wanted to talk some stuff over with you anyway.”

Jaskier perked up then. “Sure! Yeah, that’d be great.”

After waving Jaskier off at the nearest tube station, Geralt called an Uber to take him to his office. The streets heaved with tourists and wealthy shoppers at this time of day, but they all zoomed past Geralt’s vision without him even noticing. He was staring at the ultrasound image in his hand. There was a part of him that felt excited when he looked at the picture, an excitement laced with the fear of the unknown. Still, when he had seen that little hand appear on the ultrasound screen, an inexplicable feeling had swelled up inside of him in that moment. Geralt tucked the photograph back into his trouser pocket and wondered if Jaskier had felt it too.


	10. Getting to Know You

Jaskier arrived at Geralt’s flat the next evening just before seven, this time armed with a box of chocolates. After taking Geralt’s nonplussed reaction to the bouquet of roses into account, he guessed that Geralt wasn’t a flowers kind of guy. Perhaps he would be more amenable to a box (well, more accurately, a plastic purple tub) of Cadbury’s Heroes instead. When Geralt buzzed him into the building, Jaskier took the opportunity to check his reflection one last time in the mirrored lift before it trundled to a halt on the top floor. Once again, Geralt had left the front door open for Jaskier. Closing the front door behind him, he found Geralt standing in the open plan kitchen, stirring something in a large pot.

“Take your shoes off at the door,” Geralt called over his shoulder. “If you want a drink, I’ve got beer in the fridge.”

Jaskier complied, sitting his boots on the shoe rack and hanging up his jacket on the coat stand. “What are you cooking?”

“Spaghetti bolognese.”

“Smells good,” he noted, walking towards the kitchen. 

Geralt shrugged. “It’s easy to cook.”

Jaskier set the tub of chocolates on the kitchen counter and grabbed a cold beer from the fridge. He was about to take a swig from the bottle but paused when he spotted the bouquet of roses in the kitchen sink filled with water. “Oh, you kept them.”

“What?”

“The flowers.”

Geralt glanced at the bouquet and shrugged again. “Well, yeah. I don’t have anything to put them in though, so they’re living in the sink for the time being.”

Jaskier suppressed a smile. Okay, maybe he did like the flowers after all. Setting his beer bottle on the breakfast bar, he asked, “Is there anything that I can help with?”

“You could set the dinner table,” Geralt suggested. “Cutlery’s in the drawer to my right, placemats and glasses are on the shelf to my left.” 

Jaskier half-expected the cutlery to be giant-sized like everything else was in this flat, and was admittedly a little disappointed to discover a drawer full of perfectly ordinary, standard-sized kitchen utensils. While he busied himself setting the dinner table (making sure to place their settings next to each other), Geralt dished up the food and brought it over. He frowned slightly when he saw how Jaskier had set the table, but he said nothing and took his seat beside him. “I see you brought some chocolates with you this time.”

“I wasn’t sure what you liked, but I figured everyone likes Cadbury’s.”

“You don’t have to bring gifts every time you come over here.”

“It’s good etiquette,” Jaskier argued. “And I couldn’t bring you wine, could I? Besides, I wanted to give you something nice.”

“Why?”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “Because I felt like it. Must there be an ulterior motive?”

_“Is_ there an ulterior motive?” he challenged.

Jaskier scoffed and stumbled over his words. “No! I mean—why, would an ulterior motive even be such a bad thing?”

Geralt merely smirked and said, “If you’re going to be visiting here more often, bring Celebrations next time—I prefer those.”

Jaskier couldn’t help but grin, not only at the prospect of being a more regular visitor here, but that Geralt hadn’t immediately shot down the idea that an ulterior motive would necessarily be an unwelcome one. “Duly noted.”

They ate the rest of their meal in relative silence. Once they’d finished, Jaskier cleared the table and filled the dishwasher while Geralt moved over to the couch, cracked open the tub of Heroes and began picking out all of the toffee eclairs. “You don’t like these ones, do you?”

Jaskier chuckled and shook his head. “I prefer the Creme Eggs.”

Geralt scrunched up his nose in distaste. “I don’t like them. You can have them all to yourself.”

When Jaskier was done in the kitchen, he sat next to Geralt and rummaged through the tub, picking out a couple of chocolates in red wrappers. “This arrangement suits me just fine.” He popped one of the sweet confections into his mouth and mumbled, “So, you said that you wanted to talk to me about something?”

Geralt nodded, got to his feet and walked out of the living room without further explanation. Jaskier watched him disappear into the bedroom and wondered for a moment whether he was actually supposed to follow Geralt, but (disappointingly) he reappeared a moment later holding a bundle of paper. Geralt flopped back onto the couch.

“Since you’re on board with the pregnancy, we’re going to be spending a lot more time together,” he said, flicking through the mysterious papers. 

Jaskier chuckled. “Uh, yeah—like, the rest of our lives.”

“Exactly. But I’m also well aware that we don’t know very much about each other. So, I’ve taken the liberty of compiling a list of questions for you to answer.”

Geralt handed Jaskier a bundle of papers. Jaskier took the proffered bundle and stared at it. “You...you want me to fill in a questionnaire?”

“I’ve already completed my portion, if you want to take a look.” Geralt passed him the second bundle of papers with the list of questions already answered in his neat handwriting. “Feel free to take that home with you.”

Jaskier cocked an eyebrow as he scanned through the list of questions: Are you currently employed? If so, what is your occupation? What hours are you available for appointments? The list went on for several pages, and it occurred to Jaskier that this looked more like a job application than an opportunity for them to get to know each other better. He looked up at Geralt, at a loss of what to say.

“Tell you what,” he began slowly, holding out the completed questionnaire for Geralt to take back. “How about we go through the questions together?”

“It would be quicker for you just to read them,” Geralt pointed out. 

“Yes, but I’d rather learn about you from _you_ , not from a sheet of paper,” he argued. “I came over here so that we could talk, so we might as well...talk. Yes?”

Geralt looked uncertain. “I suppose so.”

“Plus it’s not like we’re in a rush,” Jaskier continued. “Like I said—you and I are going to be in each other’s lives for a long time. Potentially the rest of our lives.”

“Well, there’s a scary thought,” Geralt muttered. 

“I didn’t make any other plans for tonight. Did you?”

“Not really.”

Jaskier grinned. “Well then—let’s make a cup of tea and start from there, shall we? Do you like tea?”

“Yes,” said Geralt uncertainly.

“See? We’re learning about each other already,” said Jaskier brightly. Rising to his feet he padded over to the kitchen. “I’ll put the kettle on.” As Jaskier busied himself in the kitchen, he called over to Geralt. “Okay, first question—what’s your favourite film?”

Geralt frowned. “That’s not on the list of questions.”

“So what? I’m interested to know.”

Geralt slumped back on the couch and thought for a few moments before answering. “Probably _Seven Samurai_. Have you seen it before?”

“Never heard of it,” Jaskier admitted. “But I’ll watch it with you sometime, if you’d like?”

“Okay.” There was a long pause before he asked, “Um, what about you?”

“Favourite film? Ooft, that’s a tough question. If I had to choose, then it’d have to be _The Rocky Horror Picture Show_.”

“I haven’t seen the film,” said Geralt. “But my friend took me to see the show once.”

“Really?” asked Jaskier interestedly. He sat two steaming hot cups of tea on the coffee table and settled down next to Geralt again. “What did you think?”

“Not my thing,” he admitted. “Too much singing and not enough fighting.”

“Huh. Well, I tend to prefer it the other way around,” said Jaskier, winking at Geralt. “I’m a lover, not a fighter.”

Geralt hummed to himself as he took a sip from his tea. Although the conversation started off a little stilted (and although Jaskier would never admit it), Geralt’s questionnaire did help get the ball rolling. They discussed their families, albeit briefly: Jaskier said that his parents and brother still lived in Newcastle, while Geralt confirmed that he was an only child. When Jaskier asked about his parents, Geralt said that he didn’t know his father and he wasn’t particularly close with his mother. 

  
“What does she think about the baby?” 

“She won’t be playing a significant role in their life,” Geralt replied evasively. “You don’t have to worry about her.”

Taking the hint, Jaskier dropped the subject of families and moved on. When they started talking about their jobs, Jaskier wasn’t too surprised to discover that Geralt used to be in the army. And although he was a little disappointed to discover that Geralt was not, in fact, a spy for MI6, he thought that owning his own private security company was still pretty cool. 

“Have you ever guarded a celebrity?” asked Jaskier interestedly.

“A few.”

“Anybody that I’d know?”

“I can’t tell you that,” Geralt laughed.

“Go on,” Jaskier groaned, giving Geralt’s arm a light shake. “I promise that I won’t tell anyone.”

“Nobody except Triss, right?” he smirked. 

Jaskier opened his mouth to protest, then relented. “Fair point. Well, how long are you going to keep doing bodyguard duties? Isn’t it dangerous?”

“I haven’t been out in the field in a couple of years,” he explained. “My role in the company is strictly office-based now.”

“Oh,” Jaskier felt relieved to hear that. “That’s good.”

“What about you?” asked Geralt. “How did you end up in London?”

“I better get us fresh cups of tea before I get into that,” Jaskier suggested. “It’s a long story.”

Geralt smiled. “I don’t need to be anywhere else tonight.”

Once Jaskier had prepared them fresh drinks, he told Geralt about his time as a student in Glasgow studying at the Royal Conservatoire of Scotland. How he’d met his best friend, Triss, in the city during Fresher’s week (“She was a student at the local art school,” he explained. “Studying Fine Art—obviously.”). He recounted how four years had flown by and he graduated with a bachelor’s degree in musical theatre, and had decided to seek his fortune by moving to London (with Triss in tow) in the hopes of making it as a musician and performer. He admitted to Geralt how difficult it had been to find any kind of gainful employment when he moved to the city. But his years of musical theatre training had stood him in good stead and he managed to find employment in the typical low-paid jobs that poor, out-of-work creative industry graduates found themselves in—as a walking tour guide, or sometimes actor at the city’s most popular attractions, like the London Dungeons and Warner Bros. Studios. He admitted that he had ping-ponged from one crappy job to the next for years, earning just enough to pay his rent and feed himself, while his ambitions of stardom had been permanently put on hold. 

“I did walking music tours of Soho a couple of years ago,” he continued. “That’s why I know so much about this building—I could tell you when it was built and by who, how long it was a music venue for, what famous people played here...buuuut, I don’t want to bore you to death. Sorry, I’ve been talking a lot, haven’t I? I’m going to shut up now and let you get a word in edgeways.”

Geralt had a curious expression on his face. “What happened to your music?”

“My music?” he repeated, confused by the question. 

“The whole reason you moved here was because you wanted to be a musician,” Geralt pressed. “What happened? Do you still write music?”

Jaskier blinked. Evidently, just because Geralt didn't say much didn't mean that he wasn't listening. Jaskier couldn't help but be surprised that Geralt had actually been listening to his rambling monologue about the last decade of his life. His ex, Gareth, would tune him out most of the time, so it made a surprising but pleasant change to actually have someone really hear what he was saying. Still, he shifted uncomfortably on the couch at the query, because of all the questions that Geralt could have asked, this was the most awkward one for him to answer. 

“Umm, honestly, I haven’t written much lately,” he said before admitting, “Truth be told, I haven’t written or sang anything in a long time.”

“Why not?”

Jaskier shrugged. “I don’t have the time. I work long hours, and by the time I get home at night, I’m just so tired, I’d rather just catch up on sleep, you know?” Geralt drew him a sympathetic look, which only made Jaskier squirm. The last thing he needed was pity from the man. “It’s not like it’s been all bad! I’ve had some amazing experiences since I moved here: I’ve been to some amazing shows, and the galleries here are second to none, and there’s always _something_ happening—some random festival or carnival or an impromptu street party. And nowhere else in the world would you cross paths with the kind of weird and wonderful people that I’ve met here. And I met you, of course.”

Geralt huffed out a laugh. “I wouldn’t have thought meeting me would have been one of your better experiences.”

“Well, it is,” Jaskier insisted. “That first night we met was...well...”

Geralt rolled his eyes. “Obviously I meant everything since that night.”

Jaskier shrugged. “I’m still here, aren’t I?”

“Yeah, you are.” 

Geralt’s gaze fell on Jaskier’s lips. It was only then that Jaskier realised how close they were: Geralt sat with his arm along the back of the couch, over Jaskier’s shoulders but not touching him. As they looked silently at each other, Jaskier could think of a million things that he wanted to say in that moment, but he seemed to have lost the ability to form words in his mouth. Slowly, tentatively, Geralt reached for a flyaway hair on Jaskier’s face and tucked it behind his ear. Jaskier could feel his heart thudding in his ears, but he didn’t move away. Geralt’s fingers traced lightly down his neck, sending a tingling sensation down his body that made him shiver. The look that Geralt was giving him—eyes dark and full of want—made it difficult for Jaskier to think straight. He wanted to kiss Geralt so badly, but he was afraid of what the fallout would be if he misjudged the moment. Even if he didn’t and they fell into bed again like that first night, what then? It would make things that much more complicated than they already were. 

_Like that’s even possible,_ he told himself.

“It’s getting late,” said Geralt finally before adding reluctantly, “You should probably go home.”

Jaskier let out a breath he didn’t even realise that he’d been holding. He knew that Geralt was right—that it was the sensible thing to do—but he was still disappointed that Geralt hadn’t thrown caution to the wind and just kissed him. He checked the time on his watch and grimaced. “Shit, I’ve missed the last train home.”

“I can call you an Uber.”

“I’m not having you pay for another Uber,” Jaskier bristled. Not that he could afford it himself, either. How long would it take for him to walk back to Camden from here?

Geralt worried his lip for a moment before blurting out, “Stay then.”

Jaskier’s heart missed a beat. “Stay the night?”

Geralt nodded slowly. “Stay with me.”


	11. Stay

“Stay with me,” Geralt whispered before closing the distance between them. The kiss was tentative at first, testing the waters to gauge Jaskier’s reaction. His words rang out in Jaskier’s head over and over again— _staywithmestaywithmestaywithme_ —three little words loaded with so much meaning. Did he mean just for tonight or forever? Jaskier didn’t know, but he made his feelings perfectly clear by sliding his hand across Geralt’s waist and pulling him closer. He’d wanted this since Geralt had called him out of the blue a few days ago. Even after everything that had happened since then, knowing that their lives were about to change forever, Jaskier’s feelings hadn’t changed— he still wanted Geralt. Now that he was sure that Geralt wanted him too, he wasn’t going to mess up his chance with him. Not again. 

The tentative kiss became more heated as Geralt began pulling at Jaskier’s clothes. Everything seemed to move in a blur then as they groped and kissed, hands slipping under clothes and dragging over bare, hot skin as they shed their shirts and trousers. Geralt didn’t even give Jaskier the opportunity to completely remove his jeans, leaving them tangled around his ankles, before climbing onto his lap. Jaskier only had a brief moment to appreciate Geralt in all his glory—his toned arms, muscular thighs and his thick, swollen cock rearing upwards, leaking at the tip—before Geralt lurched forward and captured his lips in another searing kiss. Jaskier responded by wrapping his arms around Geralt’s body, pulling him closer. When Geralt started rubbing his entrance insistently against the tip of Jaskier’s cock, he broke the kiss and asked breathlessly, “Have you got any…”

“In the bedroom.” Geralt climbed off of Jaskier’s lap, but when Jaskier moved to follow him, Geralt pushed him back onto the settee. “Wait here. I want to fuck myself on your prick, right here on the couch.”

Geralt didn’t even give Jaskier time to let that promise fully sink in before he sauntered over to the bedroom to get lube and a condom. Jaskier stared after him before taking the opportunity to kick off his jeans completely, wondering to himself—not for the first time and definitely not for the last—how the hell he’d manage to wind up here with Geralt. The man was perfection personified and he couldn’t quite understand what Geralt found so appealing about him. But when Geralt reappeared a moment later and planted himself on top of top of Jaskier’s lap again, he figured it was something that he could give greater consideration another time—he had more important matters to contend with right now. Namely, fucking Geralt until he couldn’t walk straight, just the way he liked it.

When Geralt sank down onto Jaskier’s cock, taking the full length in one smooth slide, they both let out a low, shaky moan of pleasure. Geralt buried his face in Jaskier’s shoulder, taking a moment to catch his breath. Jaskier caressed Geralt’s hair and whispered words of praise, telling him how fucking gorgeous he is and how good his tight little hole felt wrapped around his cock. Geralt responded in kind by undulating his hips, sending a surge of pleasure up Jaskier’s entire body. Jaskier groaned and felt Geralt smile against his skin before he withdrew, almost pulling off entirely, before grinding back down again to the hilt. Jaskier gasped as another wave of pleasure washed over him, dizzy and breathless as Geralt began to rise and fall in a steady rhythm. 

As Geralt fucked them both closer to climax, Jaskier’s head began to spin. Even though he was gasping for air, he couldn’t seem to get enough oxygen to his brain. All he could do was feel—he relished the feeling of Geralt’s hot skin, slick with perspiration, pressed against his own, and the way Geralt’s heart pounded against his heaving chest, which rose and fell as he gasped and moaned. He savoured the way Geralt’s calloused fingertips dug into his forearms to steady himself as he bounced up and down on Jaskier’s cock, almost to the point of being painful. Everything about Geralt was intoxicating, and Jaskier wanted everything of him. He kissed Geralt’s neck and breathed him in, wanting to fill every part of himself with this man; the smell of Geralt’s cologne—clean and earthy like sweet grass after rain—filled his nostrils and made him feel drunk with desire. Lost to his senses, Jaskier ran his tongue up Geralt’s neck, desperate to taste him, pulling a low growl from Geralt when he did so.

“Fuck yes,” Geralt snarled, dragging his fingers through Jaskier’s hair before taking a fistful of it. “I want you to fuck me as hard as you can.”

“Yeah?” Jaskier breathed. Following his instincts, he spanked Geralt hard on the arsecheeks with both hands, delighting in Geralt’s groan of approval. “Want me to pound that tight hole of yours?” 

“Fuck yeah.”

Jaskier shimmied down the couch a little bit and spread his legs further apart before planting his feet firmly on the polished wooden floor. Taking a firm grip of Geralt’s arsecheeks, he began pistoning his hips up and down as fast and as hard as he could into Geralt’s greedy hole. Geralt threw his head back cried out “ _Fuck!_ Don’t stop” and Jaskier gladly obliged, pounding into Geralt with gay abandon, knocking strangled moans and gasps from him as the tip of his dick brushed against Geralt’s prostate with every upward stroke. Geralt’s right hand slid from Jaskier’s hair to take a firm grip of his own leaking prick and began stroking it back and forth to the same rhythm as Jaskier’s thrusts. As Geralt’s breaths became increasingly laboured, his eyes glazed over and his head lolled back. 

“Oh fuck,” he slurred. “Oh fuckfuckfuck…”

Jaskier couldn’t take his eyes off of Geralt. He always seemed so in control, everything he said or did so carefully orchestrated. But when he was like this, he was unrestrained, completely lost to pleasure. It was a beautiful sight, watching him come undone at Jaskier’s fingertips. 

“You like that, don’t you?” Jaskier panted. “You like it when I fuck the cum out of you.”

At those words, Geralt choked and his body lurched forward, spilling his hot seed all over Jaskier’s stomach, but Jaskier didn’t stop. He kept pounding into Geralt, his head swimming as he felt Geralt’s hole clench and unclench around him. He was so close to coming now it would only take a couple more strokes. Geralt, looking utterly spent, brought his cum smeared hand up to Jaskier’s lips and he greedily sucked Geralt’s fingers clean, his eyes rolling into the back of his head as his arousal peaked and he came. His back arched off of the couch as his orgasm tore through him and he gripped Geralt’s hips like his life depended on it. Geralt slumped forward then, wrapping his arms around Jaskier’s neck and pulling him into a messy kiss. He could probably taste himself on Jaskier’s lips, but that didn’t seem to bother him. They held onto each other, keeping each other anchored to the world as their breaths and faculties slowly returned. 

Geralt grimaced as he carefully climbed off of Jaskier’s lap and collapsed onto the couch next to him. Brushing the damp hair from his face, he closed his eyes and let out a contented sigh. Jaskier, meanwhile, looked down at himself and huffed out a laugh.

“Well, at least the condom worked this time,” he quipped. Geralt drew him a withering look and Jaskier replied innocently, “What?”

“I’m going for a shower,” he grumbled, rising to his feet. He turned and looked expectantly at Jaskier. “Are you coming?”

Jaskier didn’t need to be asked twice. 

After they’d showered, they got ready for bed. Jaskier lingered by the bedroom door in the fresh t-shirt and boxers that Geralt had lent him, still not entirely sure what the sleeping arrangements were. He watched as Geralt pulled back the quilt covers on the left side of the bed and climbed in. Grabbing his reading glasses and a book from the bedside table, he turned to Jaskier and frowned. “Aren’t you coming to bed?”

Jaskier hesitated only a moment before hurrying over to the other side of the bed and slipping under the covers. He couldn’t help but sigh as the weighted quilt pressed into his tired body. It felt like it was pushing all of the tension out of him. “Sorry, I wasn’t sure if you’d want to share a bed or not.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Jaskier shrugged. “Some people find it too intimate.”

Geralt cocked an eyebrow at him. “We’re having a baby together. I don’t think you can get any more intimate than that.”

“Yeah, I suppose not,” he mused. “I just didn’t want to presume, some people can be weird about it.”

Geralt considered Jaskier for a moment before popping on his reading glasses and opening his book. “Well, it doesn’t bother me. But I appreciate you checking anyway.” 

“No problem.” He watched Geralt read in silence for a few moments before asking, “Wotcha reading?”

“ _Your Baby Week by Week._ It’s a guide about taking care of newborns,” he replied without looking up.

“Huh. Any good?”

“It’s not bad. You can borrow it after I’m done reading it, if you want.”

Jaskier smiled. “Yeah, that’d be great, thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

There was another short silence and Jaskier spoke again. “Have you been reading a lot of baby books?”

Geralt sighed and lowered the book. “Do you always talk this much before you go to bed?”

Jaskier thought for a moment before answering truthfully. “Yes.”

Geralt sighed and discarded the book and reading glasses on the bedside table again. “I guess that’s something I’ll just need to learn to get used to, then. You don’t snore, do you?”

“Not as far as I’m aware of.”

“Thank god for that,” he muttered. 

Geralt switched off his bedside lamp and the room was plunged into darkness. Jaskier listened to the bedsheets rustle as Geralt got himself into a more comfortable position, then all fell silent. 

“Do _you_ snore?” asked Jaskier suddenly.

“No.”

“Okay. Good.” Jaskier stared up at the dark ceiling for a few minutes, listening to Geralt’s steady breaths before he spoke up again. “Geralt…”

“What?” Geralt gritted out.

“What exactly are we now?” 

It took so long for Geralt to answer the question that Jaskier wondered if he had fallen asleep or simply chosen to ignore it. “Dunno...dating, I suppose.”

Jaskier considered for a moment how he felt about this. “I’m cool with that.”

“Yeah?” Geralt replied hopefully.

“Yeah. I mean—don’t get me wrong, I know that this whole situation is pretty screwy. Most people don’t have the baby _before_ they start dating. But who says there’s a right or wrong way to go about these things? We just need to figure out what works best for us.”

Geralt hummed in agreement. “Jaskier…”

“Hmm?”

“I’m sorry that I never called you back after that first night.”

  
“You don’t have to explain yourself,” Jaskier assured him.

“I know, but I want to explain it,” he argued. “I did think about answering your text...but ultimately, my work came first. It always has, to be honest. I like you, Jaskier. I liked you from the moment I saw you in that ridiculous shirt of yours.”

“You love that shirt,” Jaskier grinned.

“I do,” he sighed. “But as much as I liked you, I knew that I wouldn’t commit the time that was needed into having a proper relationship—I wouldn’t even have had the time for casual dating. Because my job is—was—everything. But then I got pregnant and...I dunno, I guess I realised then that I didn’t care about my job as much as I thought I did.”

Jaskier turned to Geralt. He could only make out a faint outline of Geralt’s body in the darkness, but the tightness in his voice suggested that this was hugging himself right now. What little Jaskier knew of the man, he didn’t seem like the type of person that showed his vulnerable side very often. But he supposed that it was always easier to show that side of yourself under cover of darkness.

“Well, you did call me back eventually,” Jaskier pointed out.

Geralt grunted. “Yeah, when I had to.”

“You didn’t have to,” Jaskier argued. “You could have chosen to go on with the rest of your life and I’d have been none the wiser one way or the other about any of this. But you gave me the opportunity to make my own choice.”

“That’s the one thing that I still don’t understand,” Geralt mumbled, more to himself than Jaskier. “I gave you an out. I still can’t believe that you didn’t take it.”

“Well, believe it,” Jaskier replied fiercely. “Look, this whole situation is scary and new for the both of us, and I know that we’re stumbling around blindly in the dark right now, but if I didn’t want to be a part of the baby’s life—a part of _your_ life—then I wouldn’t be here.”

“...Really?”

“Really.” Jaskier moved closer and wrapped his arms around Geralt’s waist. “I’m glad you called me.”

Geralt let out a shaky breath, took Jaskier’s hand and pressed it against his chest. “I’m glad I called you, too.” 

“Geralt…”

“What?”

Jaskier pressed his lips to the back of Geralt’s neck and whispered, “I like you, too.”

Geralt’s shoulders shook with silent laughter and the tension gradually left his body. Jaskier pressed his forehead against Geralt’s back, content to spend the rest of the night spooning with his new sort-of-boyfriend, and when Geralt didn’t push him away, he closed his eyes and fell into a peaceful sleep. 


	12. A Heartfelt Confession

_ 30 weeks later _

After that second night together, Jaskier began spending more and more time at Geralt’s place. Despite his protests, Jaskier always turned up with a small gift for him; usually it was chocolates (Celebrations, of course), but sometimes it was flowers or something for the baby. The sex—as always—was spectacular, but over time, they got to know each other better too. Geralt learned that despite his assurances, Jaskier did, in fact, snore. He also learned pretty quickly that Jaskier never seemed to shut up. He talked and talked all of the time about everything and nothing. After spending the better part of a decade living on his own, that took some time to get used to. But then on the few nights that Jaskier didn’t stay over, Geralt struggled to sleep, because now it was  _ too  _ quiet for his liking. 

Geralt wasn’t sure at what point they transitioned from dating to being in a full-blown relationship, but within a few months, Jaskier had moved into his flat on a permanent basis. The one and only time he saw Jaskier’s shoebox flat in Camden was the day they’d gone to collect his meagre belongings, and to be perfectly honest, after seeing it for himself, he regretted not asking Jaskier to move in with him sooner. Having Jaskier’s belongings suddenly occupying his flat was another thing that took Geralt some time to adjust to: he didn’t mind the acoustic guitar being left on the couch, but he did mind the dirty clothes and wet towels that lay strewn across the bedroom floor. Despite the occasional disagreement about where to put their washing, it surprised Geralt how easy things were with Jaskier. He kept expecting everything to blow up and fall apart, but it never did. Jaskier kept just being Jaskier —‌funny, adorably awkward, and (today, at least) annoyingly attentive. 

“How can you complain about him being  _ too  _ attentive?” Yen muttered to Geralt after he’d complained about it. “Is such a thing even possible?”

“Oh, it’s possible,” Geralt assured her. “He’s gotten worse in the last few weeks. He’s started rubbing chamomile lotion on my belly every night and singing lullabies to her.” 

Yen snorted. “Well, that’s sickeningly adorable.”

“Tell me about it. And to make matters worse, every morning, I wake up to breakfast in bed.”

“Every morning?”

“Yes.”

Yen pulled a face and took a sip from her prosecco. “God, I wish Istredd had done that for me.”

“It’s annoying,” Geralt insisted. “He won’t let me lift a finger around the house anymore. He insists that I put my feet up and relax, to leave it to him to take care of everything.”

“Oh, how terrible for you,” she replied sarcastically.

“I’m perfectly capable of doing things for myself,” he bristled. “I keep telling him that but he won’t bloody listen.”

“He’s only trying to help.”

“I know,” he sighed. “But I’m not used to having someone wait on me hand and foot.”

“I know that, darling, but try and see it from his perspective —h e’s probably feeling quite useless at the moment.”

Geralt frowned. “How do you mean?”

“Well, you’re almost at the finish line now but you're going through a rough time of it. You’re feeling tired and swollen, you’re more irritable than usual —”

“Than usual?” he said accusingly.

“Yes, Geralt. Don’t give me that look, you know fine well that you’re a grumpy bastard, pregnancy has merely served to amplify that.”

“Urgh, my back is killing me today,” he relented, rubbing his throbbing lumbar. 

“All the more reason to take Jaskier’s advice and rest. He’s probably feeling somewhat responsible for your current state—and rightly so, he’s the one that knocked you up. Just cut him some slack, he’s trying his best under the circumstances.”

Geralt looked across the living room towards the kitchen to see Jaskier busy pouring more drinks for their guests. With only two weeks to go before the baby was due to arrive, Yen said that it was time to have the compulsory baby shower. Jaskier was chatting animatedly to a couple of Geralt’s work colleagues, and they were laughing at something funny that he had said. The sight did make him feel warm inside of his chest, but that could just have easily been heartburn; pregnancy was doing an absolute number on him and he’d already decided that carrying one kid was more than enough to last him a lifetime.

“Maybe I am being too hard on him…”

“Maybe just a little bit,” Yen smirked. “We’ll blame it on pregnancy hormones, shall we?”

“Deal.”

Geralt hadn’t planned on having a baby shower, but Yen had talked him into it after she had offered to organise it for him. He didn’t much care for the materialistic aspect of it, but it was nice to see his and Jaskier’s nearest and dearest laughing and joking together like one big happy family. Well, almost everyone.

“I take that Visenna won’t be gracing us with her presence today?” Yen asked, trying to keep her tone casual but she couldn’t disguise the note of disdain from her voice. 

Geralt shook his head. “She’s in Milan at the moment—I think. But who the fuck knows? It’s difficult to keep track.”

Yen took Geralt’s hand and gave it a tight squeeze. “Your mother’s a foolish woman. She might not regret her decisions today, but one day she’ll look back and realise what she’s missed out on.”

“Yeah, well...if that ever does happen, it won’t be my problem,” said Geralt. “Jaskier’s mum is excited about being a grandmother, though. Her enthusiasm more than makes up for Visenna’s absence.”

“Which one is she?” asked Yen, scanning the crowd of guests. Geralt nodded to the short woman with long brown hair and piercing blue eyes talking to Jaskier’s best friend, Triss. “I can see where he gets his looks from. Is she nice?”

“She’s lovely. She turned up today with three boxes of Celebrations for me.”

Yen smiled approvingly. “That’s sweet.”

Jaskier hurried over towards Yen and Geralt then holding out two fresh drinks for them. “You guys needing anything?”

“We’re fine, thanks,” said Geralt, taking the proffered glass of cranberry juice from Jaskier’s hand. 

“Are you sure?” he pressed. “I can make you something to eat, if you’d like?”

“I’m fine,” he insisted. 

“Oh! What if I grab you some—”

“Jaskier!” Geralt cried. “I’m good. Honestly.”

Jaskier hesitated. “If you’re sure…”

“If Geralt wants anything, I’ll grab it for him,” Yen assured him. “You go and relax— enjoy the rest of the party.”

“Okay…” Jaskier hesitated a moment before retreating. “If you need anything—”

“We’ll be sure to call you,” said Yen, waving him off. When Jaskier was out of earshot she turned to Geralt and shook her head. “Okay, he might be a little intense.”

“Yeah,” Geralt sighed and smiled fondly at Jaskier as he answered the door and ushered in more guests, including Geralt’s assistant, Eleanor. “But I wouldn’t have him any other way.”

“Ooh, you’ve gotten soft in your old age,” Yen teased.

“It’s the pregnancy hormones.”

“Hmm, sure it is.”

“Mr Haute-Bellegarde!” cried Eleanor excitedly. She hobbled over to where Geralt and Yen were sitting carrying an obscenely large baby hamper. “How are you feeling?”

“Good, thank you...Eleanor, you didn’t buy this for me, did you?” he asked, lifting the hamper from his diminutive assistant’s arms and sitting it on the floor at his feet. Eleanor brushed the flyaway hair from her face and shook her head. 

“No sir,” she puffed. “It was delivered to your office this morning—a gift from Ms Riannon.”

Geralt raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Wow. That’s unexpected.”

Eleanor fished a card out of her pocket and held it out to Geralt. “She also left you a message of congratulations.”

Just as Geralt was about to take the card from Eleanor, he was struck with a sharp pain in his lower abdomen. Clenching his eyes shut, he groaned and doubled over in pain. Yen instinctually grabbed his elbow and asked, “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” he lied, just as another wave of pain washed over him, more intense than the last. “Fuck! No, I’m not. I need to sit down.”

Eleanor and Yen helped Geralt back into his seat, both looking at him with concerned expressions. Eleanor stuffed the card back into her pocket before whispering, “Is the baby coming?”

Geralt shook his head. “It can’t be. She’s not due for another couple of weeks.”

“Oh, the baby’s coming,” Yen chuckled.

“How do you know?” he asked. Yen nodded to Geralt’s lap. Following her line of sight, he realised that the crotch of his trousers were wet. “Oh fuck.”

“What do we do?” squealed Eleanor in a panic. 

“Jaskier!” Yen yelled. “We need you now!”

Jaskier, who had been in the middle of piling baby presents on the gift table, dropped everything and came running over to their side. “What’s the matter?”

“My water’s broke,” Geralt said quietly. 

Jaskier’s mouth fell open. _ “Now? _ It’s happening now?”

“What do you want us to do?” asked Yen. 

“I need everyone to fuck off,” Geralt gritted out as another contraction hit him. He looked up at Jaskier with a pleading expression. “Can you get everyone to leave, please?”

Jaskier nodded and pressed a quick kiss to Geralt's forehead. “I’m on it.” 

As Yen helped Geralt shuffle into his bedroom for some privacy, Jaskier explained the situation to the other guests and ushered them out of the flat as quickly as possible. Triss was the last guest to leave, yelling ‘good luck’ at the top of her lungs before Jaskier unceremoniously slammed the door in her face and hurried to the bedroom to find Geralt pacing back and forth. Yen still sat on the bed and smiled when Jaskier appeared.

“Is that everyone gone?” she asked.

“Yeah...um, I just got off the phone with Doctor von Gratz’s office and explained the situation to them.” 

Jaskier trailed off and Geralt stared at him. “What is it?”

Jaskier rubbed his neck and grimaced. “I’m afraid Doctor von Gratz is on holiday.”

_ “What?” _

“Cyprus, apparently. For the next week.”

“Fuckfuckfuck,” Geralt rambled.

“What now?” asked Yen. 

“Another doctor is on call tonight,” Jaskier explained. “Hubert Rejk. I just googled him, he looks alright to me.”

_ “You googled him?” _ Geralt raged. He snarled in frustration and flopped down onto the edge of the bed next to Yen. “This can’t be happening.”

“Geralt. Hey, listen to me,” Jaskier cupped Geralt’s cheeks and looked into his eyes. “I know this isn’t what we’d planned for, but we’ll work around it, okay? Doctor Rejk says he’s handled cases like yours several times, so he knows what he’s doing. Everything’s going to be alright.”

Geralt clenched his eyes shut and nodded. “Okay.”

“Do you want me to stay?” asked Yen. 

Geralt shook his head. “I’m good. I’ve got Jaskier.”

Yen smiled and nodded in understanding. She gave Geralt a kiss on the cheek and said, “If you need anything, call me. Keep me posted on what happens.”

“Thank you.”

Yen then rose to her feet and pulled Jaskier into a bone-crushing hug. “Take care of him. He’s not as tough as he likes to make himself out to be.”

“I know,” he whispered. “I’ll call you if we need anything.”

After Yen left, Jaskier took a deep breath and turned to Geralt. “Okay. The hospital said it’s going to take them a couple of hours to get everything ready for you. Until then, you’ve just to relax. So, the first thing that I’m going to do is run you a bath. How does that sound?”

Geralt nodded gingerly. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

“Okay. You just do whatever makes you feel most comfortable. I’ll come find you when the bath’s ready.”

Making himself comfortable in his current state, however, was impossible. He tried kneeling on all fours on the bed like his midwife had suggested, but that made no difference. Neither did lying in the fetal position. Cursing loudly, he got back onto his feet and started pacing again, back and forth, listening to Jaskier crash and clang in the bathroom like he was engaged in some ferocious battle.

“What the hell are you doing in there?” he cried.

“Making you a space of peace and relaxation!” Jaskier replied. “I won’t be long now.”

Geralt shook his head and waddled into the kitchen for a drink. Whatever the hell he was doing, it didn’t sound at all peaceful  _ or  _ relaxing. A few minutes later, Jaskier hurried back out of the bathroom and found Geralt leaning on the breakfast bar popping a couple of paracetamol and drinking a glass of water. He looked frazzled—which Geralt thought was hilarious considering he was the one that was in labour, not Jaskier—but he flashed Geralt that dazzling smile of his and declared, “Your bath’s ready!”

Geralt followed Jaskier and hobbled into the bathroom, stopping dead at the sight before him. Jaskier hadn’t just run him a bath, he’d prepared a bubble bath with scented candles and soothing Celtic music playing softly in the background.

“What’s all of this?”

“I told you—I’ve made a space of peace and relaxation!” said Jaskier brightly. “We’ve got bath salts, bubbles and essential oils. I’ve got some rose petals too, if you’d like?”

“No thanks,” Geralt grumbled, peeling off his clothes. “What the fuck is that music?”

“It’s Enya.” 

“Can you switch it off?” he asked. “I feel like I’m in a fucking hippie retreat.”

“Oh. Right you are, that’s a no to Enya—I’ll remember that in future.”

The music cut off just as Geralt lowered himself into the hot bath. He let out a low hiss as the soothing water enveloped his aching body. Fuck, that felt good. Taking his time, he lay back and rested his head on the inflatable bath pillow that Jaskier had left for him. 

“How are you feeling now?” 

“Much better,” Geralt sighed, closing his eyes. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” 

Jaskier sat on the edge of the bath and began stroking Geralt’s hair, just the way he liked it. Geralt hummed in satisfaction, able to forget for a moment that he was about to embark on the most terrifying few hours of his whole life. But he wouldn’t be doing it alone. Having Jaskier by his side was more reassuring than he could say.

“Sing me a song, Jas.”

Jaskier chuckled. “I thought you didn’t like my singing.”

“My pregnancy hormones are running riot,” he argued. “Up is down. Everything is inside out. And right now, for reasons beyond my comprehension, I would like to hear you sing.”

“Well, when you put it like that,” Jaskier grinned. There was a short silence before he began to sing softly, _ “To adore you is all my life, Fair Ettariel. Let me keep them, the treasure of memories and enchanted flower; a pledge and sign of your love. Silvered by drops of dew as if by tears…” _

* * *

By the time they pulled up to the hospital two hours later, Geralt was feeling ‘a tad homicidal’ as Jaskier had so succinctly put it when Yen had called to check in on them. He wasn’t wrong: the pain was worse than anything that Geralt had ever experienced in his life, and as Jaskier helped him enter the hospital and approach the check-in desk, he was ready for this to be over and done with. The staff were quick to get Geralt checked in and rushed him through to the maternity unit. Normally, he would have balked at the idea of being asked to sit in a wheelchair, but his pride had long since fled him and now he was just glad to be off of his feet. 

Time seemed to pass in a blur as doctors and nurses in blue gowns rushed around Geralt, poking and prodding him with instruments, asking him questions, hooking him up to monitors and getting him ready for surgery. If he hadn’t had Jaskier there holding his hand the entire time, reassuring him over and over again that everything was going to be alright, he might have ran (well, limped) out of the hospital in a panic. But Jaskier remained by his side, stroking his hand and his hair, telling him how gorgeous he looked. Geralt knew fine well that he looked like shit, but Jaskier was so sincere with his words that Geralt almost believed him. 

When Doctor Rejk introduced himself, Geralt felt a stab of panic again. He couldn’t help but notice how young this guy looked. As though reading his mind, Jaskier asked the good doctor how many Omega pregnancies he had delivered.

“Dozens,” the good doctor replied, which considering how rare they were, put Geralt’s mind at ease a little. “You’ll be my third this year.”

Next thing Geralt knew, he was being wheeled into surgery. The C-section had been agreed upon early in the pregnancy as it was the safest option given his condition, but regardless of how ‘routine’ this was, Geralt couldn’t help but have every worst case scenario run through his head. But once they administered the general anesthetic, Geralt felt his worries and pain melt away along with his inhibitions. God, what had he been so worried about? This felt pretty damn good. He also felt very tired all of a sudden, and it was only when he realised that Jaskier was still holding his hand that he discovered his fingers were numb.

“This feels...weird,” he slurred.

Jaskier frowned and looked towards the anesthesiologist. “Is he alright?”

“He’s fine,” the masked woman assured him. “Don’t you worry, I’m keeping a close eye on him.”

Jaskier turned back to Geralt and gave him a warm smile. “You’re doing brilliantly, love. It won’t be too much longer now.”

Geralt sighed and lolled his head from side to side. “When we’re done here, can we go home?”

“Not straight away,” Jaskier explained gently. “You’ll need to spend a couple of days in the hospital. But don’t you worry, I’ll be here with you and the baby.”

“The baby?”

Jaskier chuckled. “Yes, Geralt —‌ the baby.”

Geralt suddenly remembered why he was here and grinned. “Oh yeah. I forgot. Next time, you can carry the baby.”

“Next time?” Jaskier laughed.

Geralt nodded. “Yeah, being pregnant is hard. You’re doing it next time. Deal?”

“Deal.”

Geralt could hear beeping in the distance but it sounded like it was echoing in an empty chamber. What an odd sound, he thought.  _ Beep...beep...beep… _

“Jaskier.”

“Yes, love?”

“I have a confession to make.”

Jaskier’s eyes widened with surprise. “Oh? What’s that?”

Geralt sighed and closed his eyes. “I like your singing.”

Titters of laughter rang out through the room and Jaskier beamed at him. “Do you really?”

“Yes. You sing so beautifully,” Geralt admitted. “You’re like an angel.”

“Oh my god.” Jaskier turned to the anesthesiologist again. “Will he remember saying any of this?”

“Oh yeah,” she laughed. “Every word.”

Jaskier turned back to Geralt. “Good. Then you’ll remember me telling you that I love you.”

Geralt opened his eyes again and looked up at Jaskier. “Do you really?”

“Of course, I do,” Jaskier stroked his hair and said it again. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” It surprised Geralt how easy it was to say, and he knew that it wasn’t the drugs talking, either—he really meant it. “I love you so much.”

Jaskier opened his mouth to speak but was silenced by the scream of a newborn baby. His head whipped around towards the other end of the operating table and his eyes grew impossibly wide. “Oh my god. She’s here!”

A few moments later, the doctor brought the newborn baby over to Geralt for him to see his daughter for the very first time. His grogginess sharply subsided as his focus shifted solely on the small bundle that was presented to him and Jaskier. Geralt took in the sight of her with a strange sense of awe: her skin was a healthy bright pink and she had dark hair like Jaskier’s, and powerful lungs to match. Her head looked too big for her body, with short legs and tiny hands clenched into fists as she cried out. She looked like an angry, fuzzy peach, and she was the most beautiful thing Geralt had ever seen in his entire life. 

“Have you picked a name?” asked the doctor.

“Ettariel,” Geralt croaked. “Ettariel du Haute-Bellegarde-Pankratz.”

Jaskier pulled a face. “Um...we can talk about surnames later.”

Geralt was too tired to argue. He simply nodded and closed his eyes, glad that the worst of it was finally over. 


	13. Epilogue: To the Coast

_Nine months later_

It was the last day of Geralt’s paternity leave before he was due to return to work. He wouldn’t be going back on a full-time basis, though—one of the many benefits of owning his own company was that he could set his own hours. But as much as he’d loved the last nine months at home with Etta and Jaskier, a part of him was itching to get back to the office. His priorities had changed a lot in the last year—his family would always come first—but he still enjoyed his work. 

Jaskier, meanwhile, had no desire to return to low-paid jobs that he’d ping-ponged between for the last decade. When Geralt had carefully broached the idea that when he returned to work, how Jaskier felt about caring for Etta on a full-time basis, his boyfriend had jumped at the chance. He had taken to his daddy duties like a fish to water, and admitted to Geralt that for the first time in his life, he felt like he was really good at something other than singing—perhaps, even better than that. That said, Jaskier seemed to have found a new muse in the form of their daughter. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he had started writing music again, and found Geralt and Etta to be the most attentive audience, always happy to listen to his new ballad. 

Yes, going back to work would be a bittersweet experience, but Jaskier had argued that it was an important milestone, and thought that they ought to celebrate the occasion accordingly. When Jaskier had suggested that they head to the coast for the day, Geralt wasn’t keen. He was no fan of the sand or the water, but with no alternative suggestions, he relented. They took an early train south to Hastings with Triss and her girlfriend, Vara, Yen and her partner, Istredd, and their two young children in tow. 

When they arrived at the beach a couple of hours later, Geralt couldn’t help but admire their peaceful surroundings: the shingle beach was backed by a long line of grand, whitewashed Edwardian hotels and a two-layered promenade. Unlike Brighton, Hastings Beach was mercifully quiet, which suited Geralt just fine. As Geralt and Jaskier set up camp for themselves and Etta on the beach front, Yen and Istredd wandered off to the nearby pier with their children to explore the attractions. Triss and Vara disappeared in the opposite direction in search of the obligatory fish and chips that were the staple of any trip to the British seaside. 

Geralt watched Jaskier sit cross-legged with Etta on a beach towel, lathering her fair skin with suntan lotion and chatting to her about the time he’d attended the Hastings Music Festival. Etta was more interested in inspecting the pebbles at her feet, and when she tried to put one in her mouth, Jaskier quickly plucked the shiny stone from her grasp and handed her a plastic spade instead. She frowned at the spade for a moment before throwing it a short distance away and laughing uproariously like it was the funniest thing she had ever seen. Jaskier, however, was unperturbed. Clambering back onto his feet, he grabbed the spade and matching bucket in one hand before scooping Etta up in the other. 

“The tide’s out,” he pointed out. “Etta and I are going to make a sandcastle. You fancy joining us?”

“Do I have to go into the water?”

Jaskier shrugged. “You might have to use the bucket to get some water for the moat, but you don’t have to go swimming in it.”

Geralt smiled and nodded. “Yeah, that sounds fun.”

He took the bucket and spade from Jaskier so that he could hold his hand and the three of them headed down to the water together. If anyone had asked Geralt where he saw himself in two years' time, the last thing he would have said was a day at the beach with his family. He never would have guessed that spending one fateful night with Jaskier would change his life forever, and change it for the better. But life is full of surprises, and a child of surprise was the best of them all. 


End file.
